


Not Without Me

by teaseawrites



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Coma, Destroy Ending, Embarrassed Garrus? Check, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, I've been wanting a fic like this for ages but I can't find one so I'm making it myself, Post-Canon, Post-War, Ruthless (Mass Effect), Shepard is hurt real bad and Garrus is a worrywort (valid), Spacer (Mass Effect), Vanguard (Mass Effect), but also angst, grumpy garrus is my fave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-01-08 02:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21228053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaseawrites/pseuds/teaseawrites
Summary: Garrus struggles in the wake of the war. There's no Vakarian without Shepard, and Shepard isn't waking up.





	1. Stay Alive

“I’m sorry, but there’s no Commander Shepard here.”

Garrus doesn’t move. His mandibles are clenched tight against his face as the receptionist eyes him warily up and down, irritation clear on his scarred features. For the past two weeks, he’s received the same response from every member of hospital staff he’s spoken to: _ there’s no Shepard here, sorry, try this place or that place, whatever I can think of that’ll get you away from here_. This receptionist is just the same, it seems, though he had hoped that today might be different.

It’s only then that it occurs to Garrus that the receptionist might be wary of _ him, _and Garrus doesn’t know whether to find that irritating or amusing. A few months ago (Spirits, even a few weeks ago) he would have likely considered the human’s wariness the latter, but now, he’s too tired to feel anything. And while Garrus doesn’t think he’s a particularly menacing turian, at least not to krogan women--after all, they like men with scars--he’s well aware of why countless eyes in the room flicker warily towards him when he enters. 

The weeks following the end of the Reaper War have not been good to him. A lack of sleep has darkened the skin around his eyes and made his shoulders heavy and impatience has planted a certain amount of haste in his step, while there is a sharpness to his voice that Garrus simply cannot control. He is a turian who does not want to be tested, and yet with every passing moment, he is tested more.

“I didn’t ask about a Commander,” Garrus says quietly, menacingly, “I just said Shepard.”

The receptionist shifts uncomfortably, her wide eyes darting down to the screen of her terminal. Garrus feels a slither of shame: he doesn’t want to scare her. She’s young, or at least from what he knows of humans, she looks it. A volunteer, most likely. He doesn’t recognise her face from the countless times he’s visited this hospital before. There are no fine lines on her face and there is a brightness in her eye that says that while she might have lived through the Reaper War, she did not fight in it. Garrus thinks that he envies her and then realises very swiftly that he doesn’t.

After everything, he doesn't wish to do any of it differently. How could he when _ she _accompanied him through it?

“You could try Wellington Hospital,” she offers quietly. Her slender fingers are paused over the keyboard of the terminal before her, terribly still. 

Garrus gets the feeling that she’s telling him this in the hope that he’ll leave her alone rather than to help. He knows enough about human body language to know that she’s tense, and he doesn’t think that’s just because of the way he looks. She’s hiding something, and Garrus isn’t just a paranoid mess. He _ knows _Shepard is here.

Liara had done as much research as she could after the crew of the Normandy had gotten back from the planet they had crash landed on. The pulse that had descended upon the galaxy had worked as some kind of EMP (though still, nobody quite understands the technicalities of what happened) and while plenty of comm links are still down, the ones that are up and running again had been enough to convey the information she needed. Garrus has been scouting hospitals for any sign of Shepard even before Liara had honed in on a specific one, but the fact that he _ knows _Shepard is here hasn’t made any difference. The staff likely wonder if he’s a madman and sometimes, Garrus wonders the same.

“I won’t try Wellington Hospital,” Garrus says, his mouth pulling back into a snarl, “because I’ve already been there five times, just like I have with all the others your people keep suggesting.” His talons move to rest on the counter, long and sharp; they’ve grown out since Shepard has been gone because he has no reason to keep them tamed, no fear of hurting a certain human prompting him to clip them. “And because I know Shepard is here."

“Is there a problem here?”

Garrus sucks in a breath as the voice sounds beside him, unmistakably human. Female. He isn’t in the mood to dabble with security; he knows he’ll become violent if pushed. Reckless. He’d become reckless when dealing with Sidonis but Shepard hadn’t stopped him from pulling the trigger, always respecting his choices even when she doesn't agree with them. _ What would she think of you now? _

“No,” Garrus says through gritted teeth. He turns to look at the woman. “The only problem here is the lack of–-”

But Garrus cuts himself off, his mouth closing completely. It’s like he’s taken a dose of stims and has been forced awake. The woman before him isn’t security: she’s Alliance, garbed in the appropriate uniform with the stance of a soldier. The fine lines on her round face speak of experience, and the freckles dotted across her nose remind her of the ones on Shepard’s very own. But her stern eyes are green, not Shepard’s warm brown, and her red hair, unlike Shepard's brown, is streaked with grey.

The woman raises a brow. “A lack of…?”

Garrus shakes his head, slowly and deeply sighing as he pushes back from the counter. The receptionist looks relieved, finally moving from her frozen stance.

“Nothing,” Garrus mutters, his gaze lowering to the floor. His tone of voice reminds him of the way he used to speak to his father as a teenager. He moves a hand to scratch at his head in exasperation. “Doesn’t matter.”

It takes a beat of silence before the woman tilts her head and asks, “What’s your name?”

“What's it to you?” Garrus responds. He regrets the unprofessional response immediately.

The woman assesses him for a few seconds before she looks to the receptionist. “Jessica, is this man bothering you?”

She says it in a way that instantly makes Garrus feel ashamed–-he feels like some sleaze in a club, pestering a young girl simply trying to have a good time. He’s arrested men like that before and the sight of them always makes him sick. The only reason that the tension in his shoulders dissipates is to make way for them to slump with humiliation, and with his head lowered, he looks back to the receptionist as if awaiting a prison sentence.

Jessica glances between the two of them nervously, perhaps assessing her words before she speaks. Her lips purse, the same movement Shepard does when she’s thinking, only Shepard’s lips always press together in frustration after. Jessica’s don’t.

“He wants to see Commander Shepard, Admiral.”

_ Admiral. _Her chin tilts up and her hands fold behind her back, her curious eyes assessing Garrus once more. Garrus looks at her in the very same way he had once looked at his father when expecting a lecture, at least when his father had been home to discipline him. Garrus was always a bad turian, even then. Shepard was the one person whose commands he never questioned, at least not enough to act against them.

“I’ll ask for your name again,” the Admiral says matter-of-factly, sterner than before.

Garrus takes a breath, only this time it lacks in any sort of impatience or frustration. “Officer Vakarian, ma’am. Garrus.”

“You served with the Commander?”

Garrus nods, but it’s a small movement. “Yes.”

“You care for her well-being?”

Garrus hesitates. _Care _is too small a word, but still, he utters, “Yeah.”

The Admiral makes a noise of consideration, pausing once more before her arms unfold from behind her back. “Come with me.”

Before Garrus can question her, she’s walking off towards the inpatient doors that he had previously only ever dreamed of walking through. He doesn’t hesitate for longer than a few seconds–-he follows swiftly, his gait just as brisk as the one he uses when walking through London’s gloomy streets. He has never been more relieved to be scanned by the door's security system, just like the ones in Huerta on the Citadel, as he is when they are both momentarily paused in the scanning chamber.

It is quiet in the room aside from the gentle_ beep, beep, beep_ of machinery. Now would be a good time to ask exactly _ who _ this woman is, but Garrus can’t seem to find the words.

_ Who are you? _ seems far too blunt, and Garrus realises, standing in this small chamber, that he is _ nervous. _It’s not because of this woman, but because of what might await him on the other side.

Could she really be taking him to see Shepard? He hadn’t considered what he might have to prepare for if she is–-he’d heard as much as he could from the turian patrol that had found Shepard’s body in the ruins of the Citadel, barely alive and mostly aided by the cybernetics that make up the majority of her system, but that hadn’t painted a very clear image in his head. Even so, he’d understood. The turians who had found her were shaken up by the sight, and that only provided him with dread.

Thankfully, the Admiral spoke first. “I read the reports from the Normandy. About the crash landing. I can imagine it was difficult.”

Garrus swallows. “Yes.” _I don't want to talk about it._

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “You should know, she’s…”

Garrus turns to look at the woman as his heart drops. Does this mean…?

_No, she can’t be taking me to see Shepard._ It’s too convenient, too kind, too easy. Well, the past few weeks haven’t been easy, but this–-this instance right here…

Rather than continue, the Admiral sighs, lowering her gaze. “Well, you’ll see for yourself.”

Garrus’ mouth opens to speak just as the doors of the scanning chamber hiss open, and he finds himself staring after her momentarily as she begins to walk. Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for Garrus to follow, his gait just as swift as when he paces through the streets of London in search for _answers._

“Admiral, are we–-?”

“It’s Shepard, Officer Vakarian,” she responds, “Hannah Shepard, if you'd like."

Garrus’ mandibles twitch, surprise and shame rolling through his system like a tidal wave._ Of course. _ If Garrus’ head was clearer, he might have made the connection sooner. It’s just that Shepard hardly ever talks of her parents aside from the one time when he’d _ asked, _and if she does speak of them then she talks more of her father, of the years she remembers before his untimely death. Garrus had listened with eagerness, a hunger within him to know more about her, to lap it all up. He wishes he could make a better impression, that he was in a state worthy of meeting his girlfriend's sole surviving parent.

Garrus inhales as they make their way through the hospital’s long halls, attempting to compose himself all the while. “How bad is it?”

Hannah side-eyes him. “You’ll understand when you see her.”

_ Her. _ Her, Shepard, _ his _Shepard… 

Garrus’ mandibles clench. “That bad?”

Hannah takes a breath. “Yes. I wanted to make an announcement when she was found,” she responds, heading straight for another locked door, “but given the state she’s in… the last thing I’d want to do is give people hope and then take it away.”

Garrus wonders how she can look at it so sensibly. It’s almost turian-like in gesture; Garrus’ dad would, in this situation, likely look at Shepard’s situation in a similar way, but humans were more emotional than his own species. _ How is she not in the same state as me? _

The idea of losing Shepard _ again _is something Garrus can’t bare. He can hardly acknowledge that the possibility of her not making it is a real possibility; he'd been in denial the entire time the crew of the Normandy were stuck on that planet and he still is. There is a sense of irritation within him at the fact that Hannah kept this to herself; without Liara, and without his friends in the turian hierarchy, he would know nothing.

He’s hardly slept, hardly eaten, whereas the only sign of stress in Hannah’s body is the way her shoulders get just a little heavier the closer they get to the door at the end of the hallway.

Garrus’ head tilts, and he barely hides the venom in his tone. “You’re looking at this very logically.”

When Hannah side-eyes him this time, it’s almost a glare. “Don’t take my logic for a lack of caring, Officer Vakarian. We don’t speak often. There’s… a distance. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Garrus isn’t sure if he wants to press her on the matter. He knows enough: Hannah and her daughter had grown more distant after the passing of Shepard’s father. It looks like it’s still a sore subject and Garrus isn’t here to cause problems. _She's helping you, _Garrus reminds himself. _Don't screw this up! _He’s on his best behaviour; for Shepard, he can do that, sleep or no sleep.

They’re buzzed through the security door by a salarian on the other side of a glass pane, and Hannah nods to the guard before they pass through. The door opens to a dead-end room with two doors on either side, and by the sight of the armed guards outside the one furthest to the right, Garrus knows which one is Shepard’s.

Garrus' heart is racing, but irritation surges in his system at the sight of one of the guards dozing in a nearby chair. Hannah, from the look of it, feels the same, her shoulders straightening as she clears her throat. The asari soldier's eyes widen as she whacks her sleeping colleague in the chest. The human male glares at the asari as he comes to, but it’s a second later that he realises just why he’s been woken in the first place. He stands, adjusting his uniform, and salutes.

"Good to see you're both working hard," Hannah quips.

"Admiral," the human male greets her.

His eyes narrow when his gaze finds Garrus, and truthfully, he's torn between snapping his teeth at the soldier and saying _yeah, __I'd look at me that way too._

The soldier continues, "Are you sure this turian should be coming to---"

There is a curious look on Hannah’s face which Garrus can’t place. He finds himself growing ever-more impatient, the desire to see Shepard, to ensure that she really _ is _ alive, increasing with every second that passes by. Hannah offers a few words of warning and Garrus barely hears them, his gaze focussed solely on the blue haze that allows a view inside the hospital room. He can’t see her, not yet, but he knows he’s _ close… _

Finally, the door to Shepard's room hisses open when Garrus and Hannah get closer, and the only thing he sees when he enters the room is _her_. He doesn't assess the exits or potential hazards or things to use a distraction should conflict arise, which is what he always does upon entering a room; he sees her and only her, as if Hannah's existence fades off into nothing. He is only vaguely aware of Hannah moving casually around the room to his left as he takes Shepard in, the door hissing shut behind them. Garrus can feel dread building in his stomach the longer he looks at Shepard's bruised and battered body in the hospital bed.

The first thing he notices is her hair, or a lack of it–-it's been shaved, exposing a thick scar at the top of her head which presumably extends down the back. Shepard had loved her hair; she'd kept it in a bun and always complained about how it started falling out mid-battle, but she loved the length and she had told him that she always grew irritated with it short. He remembers the first time he saw her with her hair down, messily parted over to the left and falling straight past her shoulders. He'd thought she looked beautiful, as she always does, but something about her long hair and the short white tank top it had partially covered had said _ah, yes, that's Shepard. _

He loved her hair, even as it got tangled in his mandibles and made it hard for him to breathe when lying beside her. He loved her hair because it was so _her_,long and messy and the colour of chocolate.

The majority of Shepard's face is a dark purplish colour, some splotches near her neck red and burn marred, and so, too, are what he can see of her arms, but most of her skin is either covered by bandages or her bed’s blankets. She looks small; Garrus has never really considered her height, but here, she looks different. Not... not weak, because he would never describe Shepard as that, but something similar. Fragile.

She'd either laugh or glare at him--no, she'd glare at him if he called her that. But even though he knows Shepard is strong and courageous and bold, he can't deny the way she looks. There is a small tube in her mouth and wires seem to protrude from her wherever he looks, all attached to the monitors by her side. Garrus’ visor focuses briefly on them, an attempt to make some sense of those numbers, but instantly, his gaze is drawn back to Shepard.

He can’t seem to make himself come closer. Something about moving closer makes it real, cements this moment into reality, and it’s that very thought that prompts Garrus to step forward in the first place. What has his mind become? He hardly understands himself these days, and it’s shameful that a woman has brought him to his knees like this. He remembers wondering once how men like him were once brought to such a state, but now… oh, Garrus understands.

“You can get closer, you know," Hannah says somewhat humorously, and yet her voice is quiet, tender. She is thumbing at a datapad as she glances up at him, and Garrus only half cares about what she’s doing. 

He blinks, turning to look at Hannah with his features slack. “I…”

There are no words. He takes a breath before he forces himself to move closer to Shepard’s bedside, and once he’s there, he never wants to leave. His fingers find her own, intertwining with them, and the feeling is strange–-they don’t get to do this outside the safety of Shepard’s cabin, an action reserved simply for the bedroom.

“Her legs were crushed,” Hannah explains, and Garrus winces. “The doctors have done their best to set everything back in place."

Garrus can feel the tension building. He's felt less tension in shootouts than here in this room. He does _not _like it.

Hannah continues, "They’re working as well as they can on her considering her… _ cybernetic _help. It’s a strange area for them."

_Stop, _Garrus thinks. _Stop talking. _Yet he wants to know, even if the feeling inside makes him feel like he's about to explode.

"They’re not sure if she’ll be able to walk again," Hannah says. "If she can, it won’t be without help.”

For the longest time, all Garrus can focus on is the ringing in his ears. What quality of life can she live? But as soon as the thought enters his mind, he pushes it away--whatever state Shepard is in, he will make sure she lives the best life possible. A long one. It's what she deserves. She deserves to rest, but... but he can't allow himself to be that selfless. She has to keep fighting. Just one last battle and her rest can come. With him. They'll find a beach somewhere, somewhere to relax, live off the royalties from the vids like they planned to... 

"She will," Garrus says after a while. "Make the wheelchair faulty enough and she'll walk out of spite. I could calibrate it myself."

Hannah's lips curve upwards. "You seem to know her quite well."

Garrus' face falls. He clears his throat, removing his hand from Shepard’s own. "Ah, I--"

“It’s fine,” Hannah says, her brows rising matter-of-factly. “I’m quite relieved, if I’m honest. Her taste in men in the past was… questionable. You’re a certain upgrade.”

Garrus blinks, shock lining his features and drawing his mandibles wide. This is _ not _ the conversation he expected to be having today, and for a moment, it’s too much. He doesn’t know how to have this conversation, not now, and he doesn’t _ want _ to. Shepard should be by his side like she always is, cutting him off when she knows he’s nervous, when she _ knows _he’s unsure of what to say… 

“I have the contact of somebody who worked on--worked for... her,” Garrus says instead, and then he mentally forces himself to stop with the specifics. He doesn’t know how much Shepard told her mother of her time with Cerberus; knowing her, it wasn’t very much. “I could forward you her details. Or forward yours to hers. Either way, she should look at this.”

If he trusts anybody with this, it's Miranda. She can answer whatever questions the Rear-Admiral might have. He wouldn't say he's always trusted Miranda--he most certainly hasn't--but he respects her, most certainly, and he damn well knows she's good at what she does.

Hannah squints at him briefly, her head tilting upward, and then she nods. Garrus’ gaze turns back to Shepard, the back of his free hand brushing her cheek gently. He notes the freckles dotted across her nose, very much like her mother’s own, and finds a sense of relief in the fact that he can still see them despite the burns that litter her skin elsewhere.

“How long have you two been… seeing each other?” Hannah asks.

Garrus tenses. “I don’t know if I should be–-”

“Talking to me about this?” She asks, her brows rising. Slowly, Garrus nods.

Hannah sighs. "How much did she tell you about our relationship?"

Garrus tries to think, mostly in an attempt to recall information but also to consider what he should and shouldn’t say.

“She said you weren’t very close,” he answers, “but that she… well. She never said she cares about you, but she… we talked of our parents. She was worried about you. She didn’t know where you were or… _if _you were. For a time.”

Slowly, Hannah nods, and Garrus can see from the way she averts her gaze that she’s letting the information process.

“I made some bad decisions when she was young,” she murmurs.

She makes her way across the room to hover over Shepard's bedside, just like Garrus is. Something about this soldier opening up seems strange--humans are so in touch with their emotions, so fond of speaking words out loud, whereas turians often don't have to say anything at all. Why? It's all in their subvocals. But he forces himself to listen. Hannah Shepard does not seem like a woman to surround herself with friends that she can have hearts to hearts to, and while Garrus does not consider her a friend, he certainly knows how detrimental it can be to keep trauma bottled up inside.

"She was... after her dad died, she was different. She was always closer to him than she was to me. At least, she idolised him. And he wasn't--he wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. There was a lot of hatred left over in him and I was always afraid of him passing that down to her, but he meant a lot to her. When Johann died, she wasn't the same. She got angrier, made rash decisions, risked the safety of the space station her father and I were stationed on. I was so proud when she finally joined the Alliance, and then all the progress she'd made came to a halt after Torfan.

The _Butcher_ of Torfan, they kept calling her. I couldn't... I didn't want to believe it, and I could see how it wore on her. _My _daughter. She's always kept things inside, never wanted to share it with anyone... it was a relief when she finally joined up with Anderson. He was calming, I suppose. A good mentor. But the years before... I tried to give her space, but I think maybe I gave her too much of it."

Hannah sniffs, and Garrus realises she's crying. His mouth parts as he struggles to think up something to say, but for the life of him, he can't. _Damn you and your stupid brain, _Garrus thinks to himself. _Only good for calibrating and embarrassing yourself._

"I keep thinking," Hannah continues, trying her best to contain herself. "I keep thinking that maybe if I'd done something differently..."

"That it would what? Change her fate?" Garrus frowns. Suddenly, the words start flowing out before he can even think them over. "The only thing that would change... well, it wouldn't do any good for the galaxy. Whatever you did, you did something right. She... none of us would be here today without what Shepard did. _Whatever_ she did. You can't blame yourself for this."

Hannah sucks in a breath. "Alright," she says. There is a few seconds worth of silence before she says, "but that means that you can't, either."

"What?" Garrus frowns. "I'm..."

An image of Shepard running towards the beacon _alone_ flashes in his head. _I shouldn't have let her go alone. _Garrus only just avoids wincing.

He continues, "I'm not."

Hannah's brows furrow. "I've seen enough healthy turians in my lifetime, Officer Vakarian. You're falling apart at the seams. If not guilt, what's wrong with you?"

"Garrus."

"What's wrong with you, Garrus?"

Garrus' mandibles clench, and one doesn't have to be turian to hear the frustration in his tone. "Maybe I'm just worried about whether I'm going to lose the woman I love for the third time."

Hannah's shoulders straighten as she blinks. "Alright," she says. "I deserved that."

Garrus' eyes close. "Sorry," he apologises quietly, a hand moving to rub at his face.

Hannah shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't push you. It was selfish; I shouldn't have--"

"We started off as friends," Garrus begins to explain, much to his and Hannah's surprise. Call it pity or sympathy, but something in him tells him that this is the right thing to do, even if he does feel... awkward about it. "When we met, after I joined the first Normandy, she was already... interested in somebody else. It wasn't until the two years after her dea-- disappearance," Garrus corrects himself, "that something started to change.

She needed somebody and so did I. So it--we--worked together. We both wanted something to go right, and against all odds, it did. I don't think either of us expected to fall as hard as we did for one another. I've always respected Shepard as a mentor; her spirit is contagious and I don't know anyone else with the courage to headbutt a krogan. But she does crazy things like that. It's hard not to love her.

After the Alpha Relay, she... it was difficult to speak to each other. She was under constant surveillance, you know, and I was working as Reaper Advisor for the turian hierarchy... but I thought of her every day. You don't just forget about someone like that, not when you've gone through so much together. And when we saw each again... Spirits, I was terrified that she wouldn't feel the same. That what we had was just a passing phase for her. But it wasn't. And now..."

And now she's in a hospital bed covered in scars with her head shaved and her legs crushed.

Hannah seems to take some time to take this all in before she asks, with a mix of wonderment and emotion in her eyes, "When did you last see her?"

Garrus swallows. "She was running off into the beam," he answers. "I was injured. She told me--well. That doesn't matter." It's _private, _and is it so selfish of him to want to have something to himself? His hand wraps around Shepard's again, his gaze focused on the curves and angles of her face. "I wanted to go with her. I didn't want the Normandy to leave, not without her, but we..."

"You were running out of time," Hannah says quietly. "You did what she would've done."

Garrus stays silent, his gaze focused on the soft rise and fall of Shepard's chest.

"It's not your fault, Garrus."

"I know."

"Do you?"

Garrus retorts, "Do _you_?"

The two of them assess one another matter-of-factly, the way Garrus would stare at a target down a scope. Hannah isn't a target, but dealing with her requires the same level of severity. She's impossibly unique, just like the Commander. He wonders if all the Shepard women are like this, and he hopes that one day he'll be able to see for himself.

“Has she been awake at all?” Garrus asks, his voice low as he changes the subject.

Hannah sucks in a breath, taking a step back. “No. Not… no. You can look over the records. See for yourself.”

Garrus swallows thickly before he turns to look at her again, and when he does, she’s crossing the room to grab the datapad she’d been assessing when they entered. She offers it to him and she takes it gently, beginning to pace absent-mindedly as he assesses the numbers, the notes, anything that might tell him more about Shepard’s condition and how likely it is that she’ll–-no.

It isn’t until later when Hannah leaves the room in search of the doctor that Garrus finally feels able to really, truly breathe. He can’t help the way that he leans down to press a kiss against her forehead, savouring her scent as if it’s the first and last time he’ll ever get to have her this close again.

“You better not be at that bar yet, Shepard,” Garrus sighs, his forehead meeting her own. “Not without me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! If you got this far down then wow, thank you, I adore you. This is my first fanfic so let me know what you think! I'm considering making this a series, so if you'd like to see that happen, please comment below and perhaps even give kudos if you really liked this. It means a lot!
> 
> EDIT: This fic is now a series! Thanks for the feedback; you guys made this happen!


	2. Take a Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Vega comes to raise Garrus' spirits. And I love him.

He learns a lot about Shepard in the weeks that pass. 

Hannah is eager to vent, to share, and Garrus is there to listen… though not without his share of guilt. He can’t help but think that these are things that Shepard should be telling her himself, like he’s spying on her in a way that is somehow vulgar and wrong. But every time Hannah begins to tell another story, every time Garrus finds himself with another question, he cannot stop himself from listening—or asking. He is afraid that he might not get the chance to hear these stories from Shepard at all, and if the worst comes to the worst, what if it’s too late to hear them later down the line?

In truth, Garrus is afraid of a lot of things these days—just as much as he was when the war was still thriving, still rearing on. He knows the cause. There’s no Vakarian without Shepard, after all.

That mantra is becoming all too real. Shepard’s cheeks hollow more with every day that she stays asleep, though Miranda has, thankfully, passed on as much information as she can to the nurses and doctors at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. She makes occasional visits and, for some strange reason, they provide Garrus with a smidge of relief—she’s in good hands, finally.

_ It’s not that I don’t trust the doctors here, _ he thinks, his gaze trained on Shepard’s chest as it rises and falls. Her vital signs are a permanent fixture on his visor. _ It’s just that Miranda returned Shepard to us in the past, and if anyone can do it again, it’s her. _

The door hisses open, but Garrus doesn’t bother to look up. He expects it to be one of the nurses; they come in now and again to check on how Shepard is doing, if there’s any change, and likely to see if he’s behaving. But the voice that speaks is not one he expects but one that he recognises, and when he looks up, he’s relieved to see a friend in the doorway of Shepard’s hospital room.

“Oh,” James blinks, surprise in his features. “Hey, Scars. Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he waves a hand absent-mindedly, “what with the Mactare Relay back up and running.”

Garrus takes a breath, standing from his seat. “Yeah. You and my dad share the same mindset on that one.”

James grimaces, a motion of sympathy. “Ouch,” he says, his fist meeting Garrus’ in a firm soldier’s handshake. “Things kinda rocky?”

Garrus nods tersely as he takes a step back. “You could say that.”

It is entirely Garrus’ fault, of course. He should have returned home as soon as the Relay was pronounced active again. But the idea of Shepard waking up alone without him by her side; the idea that her first moments would be them _ separated _ once more… Shepard is entirely capable of taking care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. Not anymore. Garrus wants to make sure that for once, she’s not the one taking care of everybody else—when she wakes, it will be _ him _ taking care of _ her. _She deserves that.

Anything could happen while he’s away. The Relay could shut down again and Garrus could be stuck on Palaven for the foreseeable future, something which isn’t implausible—the same thing happened to the Thessia Relay, raising millions of hopes and then shutting them down again overnight. Knowing his luck, that would be when Shepard would wake. The thought almost convinces Garrus to visit and see.

He calls Solana frequently, of course. He speaks to his father less so. Castis wants him home, something which Garrus can understand, but what his father doesn’t realise is that while the war might be over, Garrus’ own battle is still raging.

“What are you doing here, Vega?”

James raises a brow. “Should I not be here?”

Garrus tenses. “No. That’s, ah, that’s not… what I meant—”

James lets out a huff of laughter. “Nah. I got you, Scars. I know you can’t bare not bein’ in the company of these guns for too long.”

Garrus’ mandibles twitch. “_Right. _ And with the lack of big guns needed around here, you thought I might need something else to calibrate. How thoughtful of you, James.”

James chokes, suddenly bright red. Garrus recalls that being a sign of embarrassment in humans, and he lets out a huff of amusement at the sight.

Garrus shifts his weight on one leg as he asks, “Really, James. What are you—how did you even get _ in _here? Liara, I’m guessing.”

Others have visited, of course, but they’ve had to let Hannah Shepard know ahead of time, something which was only just implemented. _It looks like a party in here, _Hannah Shepard had said disapprovingly the last time she visited.

Truthfully, he’s not sorry. Shepard’s team deserve to see her just as much as her mother does, if not more. From how it seems to Garrus, they’ve been there for her more than her family have. Shepard had spoken a lot of her family back on Earth--more than she had of her mother, in fact--but only Hannah has visited. He guesses he understands, given the state of the universe.

Still, Garrus is here more often than not, and he usually hears from Hannah who’s coming and going. It’s not that he requests to know; Garrus is not controlling, not by any means, but Hannah certainly does love communication. Somebody had called her a chatterbox and that name had stuck with Garrus in particular for some unknown reason, but Garrus can’t remember exactly who it was.

James shrugs. “Nah. Don’t need the Shadow Broker when you’ve got the power of persuasion and good looks on your side. I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you, Scars?” Vega smirks. Garrus rolls his eyes before James continues, “Plus, I, ah… _ may _have name dropped Miranda. And Candy. And yours. Can’t tell which one really did it for me, though. Aside from the charm.”

Garrus’ head tilts. “Candy?”

“Shepard Senior. She’s sweet, which is weird ‘cause… well,” James eyes Shepard, as if to say _ I wouldn’t describe Shep as sweet, _ and Garrus doesn’t think he’s wrong. Shepard is fearsome and brave, and while she may be compassionate, he wouldn’t describe her as _ sweet. _ “But she’s also kinda hot. Candy.”

Garrus moves to scratch at his head, exasperated. “You never cease to amaze me, Vega.”

James shrugs. “If you were human, you’d see.”

There is a moment of silence before James’ attention finally turns to Shepard. He sucks in a breath, his muscular shoulders heaving with the effort of it, and he inches towards Shepard’s bed only to pause at the end of it.

“Any change?”

Garrus shakes his head as he eases himself back into his chair with a sigh. “Same as usual.”

James’ hand moves to his neck, rubbing there somewhat awkwardly. “Shit, man. I don’t even know how you’re—I mean…” He sighs, his hand dropping to his side. “If you ever need to talk, or even grab a drink…”

“It’s fine, James, really,” Garrus responds, although they both know it’s definitely not. “_I’m _fine.”

James nods. “Don’t believe you, but the offer still stands. Well, uh, I guess I figured I’d stop by, see if there was any change.”

Garrus does not respond.

James pauses, glancing over him before he continues, “She, uh… I was thinkin’ of buying her some flowers, y’know, even though I know she doesn’t seem like a flowers kinda gal. But then I saw this.”

James grins as he holds up a lumpy paper bag which says _ Blastoutlet. _Damn Blasto... Before Garrus can ask what on Earth (literally) Blasto is doing selling merchandise in the ruined streets of London, Vega’s reaching into the bag and pulling out his purchase—a stuffed toy. It is a soft, plush figure of Shepard in her N7 armour, her arms wrapped around a gun-wielding hanar. _Blasto._

Garrus mandibles twitch—firstly in shock, then in amusement. “You know she hates Blasto, right?”

James’ face falls. “You’re shittin’ me.”

Laughing, Garrus says, “She has the same amount of hatred for that hanar as she does the Reapers. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if she woke up and saw _ that, _she’d go right back to sleep again. _Or_ she’d think she woke up in hell.”

James grumbles, stuffing the toy back in the bag. “That’ll teach me not to ask for a receipt. Think I can call fraud on it?”

Garrus shrugs. “You could try. _That_ or give it to Kasumi.”

Nodding, James says, “Good call.”

Neither of them acknowledge that they haven’t heard from Kasumi for weeks. Instead, the room turns silent as Garrus’ gaze returns to Shepard.

James continues, “You sure you’re not up for that drink?”

But it’s another voice that answers, female and unmistakably human. “Did someone say _ alcohol _?”

Garrus looks up to find Candy—no, Hannah Shepard—standing in the entrance of the doorway. Her brows are risen and there is a small curve of amusement on her thin lips, but her Alliance uniform looks baggier on her than usual. Garrus wonders when she lost all that weight--has he not been paying attention?--as James salutes in her direction, a strange gesture to see considering their newfound familiarity with one another.

James grins at her. “You drink, Candy?”

Hannah squints at him. “Candy?”

Garrus closes his eyes. “Don’t ask. Spirits, _ please _don’t ask.”

When Garrus opens his eyes again, Hannah is looking between the two of them suspiciously. Garrus shakes his head as his mandibles twitch, and Hannah’s gaze returns to Vega.

“Yes, Lieutenant Vega, I do drink,” she answers. “I’m not _ that _old.”

James coughs, lowering his gaze. “Right. Well, you’re more than welcome to join us on our night out, if you want.”

Hannah chuckles. "Thanks, but I'm just kidding. A hangover is something Idon't need right now."

“I haven’t even said _ yes _ to this so-called _ night out _yet,” Garrus glowers.

“_Yet_, he says,” James comments, his brows rising matter-of-factly as he smirks in amusement. “So you pretty much _did _agree, Scars. Right there. You deserve a nice night for once.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the Lieutenant,” Hannah responds, her shoulders straightening. “Garrus, when was the last time you left this room?”

Garrus glowers. “I don’t need to be babysat.”

“Damn,” James says, shaking his head. There is sarcasm in his movements and in his tone. “He doesn’t even remember. That’s bad. It’s lookin’ like intervention time, Admiral.”

Hannah’s head tilts. “I don’t think this room can host the amount of people who keep flooding my inbox with visitation requests.”

Garrus avoids eye contact, his gaze returning to Shepard. He is well aware that he is the root of Hannah’s problem, but he has no shame. He hears Hannah sigh.

“You have her vitals with you wherever you go,” she says softly, reassuringly, in a tone that reminds Garrus of his mother in the good old days. She's right--he uploaded them to his visor a while ago. “You’ll know if she wakes, or if something happens. And you’ll never be too far away.”

Garrus’ mandibles clench. His eyes flicker from the buzzcut Shepard sports, to the burns on her neck, to her collarbones and arms and chest where bruises had lain weeks before. He remembers how worried he had been when her bruises had begun to change colour, only to discover that this was a natural part of the healing process. He had noticed every change—red, blue, purple, green, yellow, and then finally to brown. The thought that he is spending too much time here doesn’t even cross his mind.

“I’m being stationed off-world in a few days,” Vega says. “C’mon, Scars.”

Garrus grumbles, “Fine,” as he stands, his hands on his thighs as he pushes himself up from the chair he sits on. “But you’re buying the first round.”

James grins. “You got it, big guy.”

* * *

“And then Solana said, ‘_Is she an alien? Is it Commander Shepard?’ _and I knew,” Garrus shakes his head, a laugh slipping from his lips, “I _ knew _ there was no denying us. My sister is—my sister is _ ridiculously _ nosy, heh,” Garrus’ mandibles twitch at the thought, “but exceedingly intelligent. Works for Kuwashii—at least, she did. Before… well. Everything’s kind of up in the air what with the whole,” Garrus’ fingers move to make quotation marks, “_figuring out the new line of succession _ thing.”

James grins. “So should I start callin’ you Primarch Vakarian, oooor…?”

Garrus shakes his head, his eyes closing momentarily. “Don’t joke about that. I’d be a pretty bad Primarch. Imagine, a turian who won’t even return to his homeworld. Ha.”

James chuckles before he shouts something to the bartender to request another round of drinks. Garrus makes a mental note to remember to get the next. He’s talking too much. He hasn’t talked this much in a very long time. He can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol loosening his tongue or something else, but it’s not giving him any time to think about the way they’re acquiring the drinks in between.

“Man, I wish I had siblings,” James says. “You got just the one?”

Garrus nods. He downs the rest of his drink. “Older. She’s, ah—she’s got more of a quad than I do.”

James makes a noise—_ what is that called? A hiccup? _“She must have more scars than you.”

Garrus lets out a soft huff of laughter. “No, I hope not. She hurt her leg in the flee from Palaven, but she’s okay. She’s always okay—she can take care of herself.”

“Damn Vakarians,” Vega slurs, grinning. “Like cockroaches, I bet.”

Garrus tilts his head. “Cockroaches?”

James waves a hand. “Just think of it as a compliment. D’you —_ hic _ — d’you miss Palaven?”

Garrus’ shoulders square. It’s a question he has to think about. Yes, he misses his family; no, he doesn’t miss the strict way of living; yes, he misses the heat; no, he doesn’t miss how much of a disappointment he sometimes felt in the eyes of the turian law. Some of that is different now, but Garrus doesn’t know what that means or how much it matters.

“I definitely don’t like London,” Garrus responds, an attempt to change the subject. “It’s…” He tries to think of a better word than _wet, _nodding to the bartender as he sets their drinks down. “It’s everything that _isn’t _natural for a turian.”

James turns back to him and slurs, almost out of nowhere, “You should go see your family, man. Shepard wouldn’t want you to sit around waiting for her. She’d want — _ hic _ — she’d want you to do somethin’. Somethin’ to help.”

Garrus lowers his gaze with a small sigh. He paws at his drink, his talons wrapping and unwrapping around it. It’s not like he’s been doing nothing; he’s a restless turian, and the sight of the city around him makes him sick in the same way it had made him sick on Omega. London is nowhere near as bad as the city of thieves and mercenaries, but nobody complains at the loss of one less thug or gangster trying to make it big in the wake of war. The change Garrus is making is small, but it’s all he can sacrifice—it’s all he _ wants _to sacrifice. 

Perhaps Garrus hasn’t earned his break, but Shepard… she’s certainly earned hers. He wants to be there for her to make it as easy as he can when the time comes.

“‘Sides,” James mumbles, a smirk now appearing on his lips, “distance makes for a far better reunion.”

Garrus makes a noise between a snort and a chuckle as his head dips. “She’s _ hospitalised, _James.”

Vega shrugs, leaning against the bar casually. “Just — _ hic _ — sayin’.”

“It’s just…” Garrus' mandibles clench tight against his face. “If that was me in that bed, after what I’d gone through, I’d want someone there to wake up to. Someone familiar. Someone… someone who I could look at and know that wherever I am, afterlife or not, I’m _ home. _”

James’ nose wrinkles. “Okay. Ignoring all the gooey stuff for genuine advice, you’re welcome, so here goes: would _ you _want Shepard to sit around on her ass when her family needs—or wants, I guess… wants her home?”

Garrus almost growls, but he manages to fight it back. _ James is your friend, _ Garrus reminds himself, _ and he’s telling you the truth. _He inhales slowly as his talons finally clench around his drink, tipping it back with the fervour of a man proven bested.

“Dammit, Vega. Can’t you _ just _ have good looks? It’s offensive to us uglies when you have those _ and _smarts.”

Vega snorts. “Don’t think anyone’s ever called me _ smart _before, but thanks. And for what it’s worth,” he says, “I don’t think you’re sitting around on your ass. I’ve heard enough rumours of Archangel hangin' around the streets of London. But your family…” James shrugs. “I’d wanna be with them. I’d want them to be with me.”

Garrus takes a breath. “Mm. I guess one trip couldn’t do too much harm.”

_ It might, _ Garrus thinks, trying to steady his fast-beating heart. _ Solana will want me to stay for an extended period, Dad will surely find _ something _ to bug me about, the feeling of not belonging on my own home planet will return, Shepard could wake up at any moment_—

James grins, lifting up his drink. “To Palaven.”

Garrus barely resists a sigh, lifting his drink. “To Palaven.”

_ And to facing what awaits me there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter two! If you do, kudos and a comment are always appreciated! I would love to hear what you want to see next, too, because that will always help to give me ideas. I have a general structure, but you never know what will help develop it at the same time.
> 
> If you like my Shepard and would like some more glimpses into her, her parents, and how she interacts with the people around her, make sure to check out my newest fic, Building A Shepard!
> 
> P.S. Comments make me very happy.


	3. What'd I Miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus is reunited with Solana and his father.

The thunderstorm that rages as Garrus leaves London is almost enough to convince his weary heart that leaving is for the best.

Almost.

For a moment, as he lingers in the doorway of the travel shuttle, he contemplates touring Earth. There are surely cities in need of aid, in need of fighters like him. He could help elsewhere and still be useful. Shepard once mentioned falling in love with one particular Earth city, but he can only remember that its name is long and that it begins with L. It’s not enough. _ There’s no point being elsewhere on Earth if I’m not with Shepard, _ he thinks, the door to the shuttle slamming shut behind him. _ Everything will remind me of her. _His decision is final. He’s leaving, but whether that’s for the best is up in the air.

He’s grateful for the lack of windows in the shuttle as it rattles away from London, because it doesn’t give him a chance to look back.

Even still, he regrets coming to Palaven as soon as he steps foot on his homeworld. He hasn’t missed the neat lines of people, the stoic faces, the _ yes sirs _ and _ no sirs _and the relentless respect for turian high command. He understands it, but he doesn’t miss it. People have to cling to something familiar in the wake of the war, but all that Garrus thinks is familiar is lightyears away in a hospital bed, wasting away with every breath she takes—or rather, the breath that the machines she’s hooked up to takes for her.

At times, as Garrus lies awake and stares at her unwavering vitals scrolling across his visor, he wonders how bad it would be if she passed; if she died, well and truly died, and didn’t come back. Will he handle losing her again? No. He’d come undone the first time and he’ll come undone again. But Shepard deserves the peace, and while Garrus knows he wouldn’t ever be able to really, truly move on, the idea that Shepard could finally be free… 

The sky in Cipritine is darker than usual, and Garrus can’t help but think that it’s fitting.

But it is his sister’s bright eyes that he notices first amongst the throng of people at the station, and it’s the brace on her leg that he notices second. Even so, Solana Vakarian approaches him with the grace and ease she has always laid claim to. Garrus can hear warmth from her buzzing subvocals as their fingers intertwine in a familiar greeting, the back of their wrists tapping against one another as each of their heads incline. Garrus’ subvocals mimic his sister’s own as best as he can, but if his subvocals are a gun, then his absence from Shepard is the dampener.

“Missed you, little brother.” 

“Missed you too, Sol.”

They part from one another and Solana nods behind her, to her left. 

“Come on,” she says. “Shuttle’s this way.”

Garrus’ gaze flickers to his older sister’s injured leg as they begin to walk. “Did you drive here on your own?”

She glances over to him, her mandibles clicking passive-aggressively. “I’m disabled, Garrus, not helpless.”

Even still, she lets him drive the shuttle home. They slot right back into their old routine, big sister and younger brother, though these days Garrus feels as old as their father—just lacking in his level of sensibility. But it’s good to have something to focus on other than his own thoughts, and so Garrus focuses on driving, on feeling the hum of the shuttle as it moves, on which way to turn and which signal to make. He misses a few turns because he’s too busy assessing the city’s damages, his visor blinking with alerts.

It’s only after Garrus makes a particular left turn that Solana speaks. "We’re going to the old house.”

"Why?"

"Do you see any intact buildings around here, Garrus? Dad's was destroyed. The old house is all we have left."

Garrus stares at his sister for a few extra seconds and then makes the necessary adjustments to their route. The old house is where he and Solana grew up and it’s further away from the city, which makes sense in terms of destruction levels. Cipritine’s central is a mess of chromatic, crumbling skyscrapers and patches of rubble, but the further they get into the suburbs, the less destruction he sees. Still, it feels like their journey lasts merely a few minutes by the time Garrus pulls to a stop in the landing pad of their family home.

Solana’s hand finds his wrist before he’s able to open the shuttle door. He turns to her with dull eyes, unintentional but truthful. There is sympathy—and worry—in his sister’s dark hues.

“Any progress with the Commander?”

Despite the look in her eye, her subvocals are all business. Garrus appreciates the lack of small talk, the way that she gets straight to the point. Something about her tone reminds Garrus that she was always the better turian out of the two of them.

He shakes his head, climbs out of the car, and Solana doesn’t press him on it anymore.

Their family home isn’t too impressive in terms of turian structures. It’s taken some damage in the war but it’s still standing tall, metallic and multi-story, with flat roofs and curved edges. The lock on the door and the lights from within glow blue, and Garrus feels a strange sensation of peace at the sight of it. _ There’s something about looking inside a house to see warmth on a winter’s day _—

That feeling of peace vanishes as soon as he realises that he and Solana will not be alone. Garrus heaves a sigh, mentally preparing himself for whatever his father has in store for him, and he wastes no time in making his way inside his childhood home. _ Better to get this over with, _he thinks, ignoring the burnt remains of his mother’s flowerbeds as he goes.

Garrus heads for the living room, dumping his bag on the curved sofa, but he hears no noise of greeting from his father. He’s not usually one to make people wait, and since the living area is all one open space, he’d be able to see him. Garrus turns to look at Solana questioningly.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Out,” Solana answers. She breezes past him and into the kitchen. “He’s probably with Octacia.”

Garrus frowns. “Octacia?”

Solana lets out a sharp huff of laughter as she opens one of the cupboards. “Spirits,” she says, her subvocals ringing with dissatisfaction. “You really haven’t paid attention to anything other than _ her _, have you?”

Garrus grimaces, his eyes closing. He knows she means Shepard. “Don’t, Solana. Please.”

Thankfully, Solana doesn’t press him on the matter. Truthfully, the only time she has ever pried was when she was under severe stress, and that had been when their mother was sick. He couldn’t blame her; in fact, it’s hard for him to ever be mad at her. There is something about Solana that is inherently charming, even if he won’t admit it out loud. It would provide his sister with far too much of an ego boost.

For a time, Garrus simply sits on the sofa and watches her move. It feels strange to be in a domestic situation again; that is, without Shepard. Without their rituals on the Normandy. But he doesn’t know how long this will last, this peace, so he makes the most of it. The feel of the room is bound to get colder once his father arrives home. It usually does.

Eventually, Garrus moves to sit at one of the seats lining the kitchen island. “What are you making?”

“_ Natpanus _,” Solana responds, glancing across the island at him. It's been a while since he's had proper turian food, and Garrus' stomach grumbles at the idea of it.

Solana presses down on an ingredient with the flat of a knife and it crunches under the pressure. “You’re thin as a vorcha. When was the last time you ate?”

Garrus shrugs. It’s the truth, and he won’t bother to lie to his older sister. 

He asks, “Shouldn’t we wait ‘til dad’s home?”

Solana’s mandibles flutter in indifference. “He’ll be home by the time it’s done.”

_ What the hell is he up to? _ Solana knows his routine by now, which means he's been at this for a while. His father doesn't have any friends called Octacia, and the only other turian that springs to mind is the famous TV host. His dad hanging out with Octacia, _the _Octacia, is a hilarious thought.

Garrus lowers his gaze to his Omnitool as he waits. He could easily go out and scope out the town, get a further look at the damage while Solana cooks. It would definitely give him a better understanding of just how much rebuilding Cipritine has to do. But for the first time since the Normandy’s crash landing, Garrus doesn’t feel like he has to rush anywhere. That restlessness is still there, of course, lingering under his skin, but it’s subdued. Garrus doesn’t quite understand it. In the past, home has just made him flighty.

He loads up his email and glances at the app on his Omnitool, glancing across the most recent titles in bold. He is reminded that he left without a word when he reads _ You left???? _ from Tali, and he swiftly closes the app again. He doesn’t need judgement from two sisters. Besides, Tali left, too; she went straight to Rannoch, the same mindset as him. _ I can be beneficial elsewhere. _Rannoch needed her.

By the time Castis Vakarian returns home, the Vakarian family home is awash with the smell of Solana’s cooking. Real food tops nutrient paste any day and when he sees the food sizzling in the pan he can almost taste it then and there.

But he forgets all that as soon as he sees his father’s face, now sporting nearly as many scars as Garrus. It’s like they’re hereditary. Garrus is curious, but he doesn't have it in him to ask.

To Garrus' surprise, the first words out of his father’s mouth aren’t judgemental. Castis sighs with relief as he walks towards his son, his body language open and accepting. “Garrus.”

Garrus blinks, and then he relaxes. “Dad. Hi.”

His father initiates the same greeting that Solana had at the shuttle station, minus the head bow. It’s more formal than Solana’s, but it feels appropriate. Garrus feels a strange sensation of both relief and dread all at once; his father is acting different, and in a black and white kind of way, that’s _ good. _But what about the grey?

Garrus still doesn’t like thinking in grey. 

“How was your journey here?” Castis asks.

Garrus' head dips in thought. “It was…” _Boring. Stressful. _He had too much time to think. “Uneventful, all things considering.”

Castis lets out a small noise that, if Garrus didn’t know his father better, would sound like amusement. “That’s good. I think we could all use something uneventful.”

“Speak for yourself,” Solana grumbles from the kitchen, arranging the food on three square chrome plates. The Vakarian clan has always been restless, just in different ways.

Castis’ mandibles flutter in thought as he turns to look at Solana. “There’s something I would like to talk to you both about later,” Castis says, but his attention averts to Garrus as he speaks. “I believe it would be good for us. An opportunity to do something good in the wake of the war.”

Garrus resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. He knew his father would have something like this up his sleeve—his father, like him, is restless. Only his father seems to be restless in all the _ right _ways, whereas Garrus doesn’t give a damn about what other people consider right and wrong.

“Quit it, Dad,” Solana orders with a sigh. “Now's not the time. Sit down, both of you. Dinner’s ready. Welcome home, Garrus--I got this just for you.”

Dinner passes almost easily, albeit a little awkwardly. The three of them engage in small-talk just like a normal, ridig turian family would. Garrus simply doesn’t know what else there is to say. They speak of Palaven’s damages, of rebuilding efforts, of what their science divisions are learning from Reaper tech, of food shortages and the new turian population and even neighbourhood gossip… until finally, the topic of conversation turns to Garrus. Suddenly, he feels like he’s in a C-Sec cell or perhaps even under a microscope, and his father is back in business.

“So,” Castis begins. “How have you been spending your time?”

Garrus huffs, moderately amused. He pushes his food around on his plate. “Next question.”

Castis’ head tilts. He stops eating, his cutlery still in hand. “What I meant to ask,” Castis says coolly, “is why you have spent so long on Earth. They must not have many dextro rations there considering the state of you. Have they been starving you? You could have returned weeks ago.”

Garrus can’t help but retort, “Could have returned or _should_ have?”

Solana inhales deeply. “Do we have to have this discussion over dinner?”

Castis fixes Solana with a stare. “I am merely showing concern for my son.”

Solana’s eyes narrow. “Why don’t you just tell us what you wanted to talk about? If you insist on having this conversation now, I mean."

Garrus lowers his head in an attempt to hide the twitch of his mandibles in a smile, but of course, he’s not able to hide it completely. He takes another bite of his food, waiting for the silence to pass.

“Very well,” Castis responds. “You have all heard of Octacia Sylvatus, yes?” 

Solana and Garrus nod. _ That _ Ocacia, then. Garrus had been right in his assumptions before, though the revelation that his father is spending his time with somebody like _ that _ is a strange one indeed. Garrus, though he might have been away for a long time, has of course heard of the turian superstar.

Like most, she fought in the military until she became famous by reporting on the people within it, and then she managed to rise up the ranks and get her own TV show. It’s rare that any turian _ hasn’t _ heard of Octacia. So what is his _ father _doing with her?

“She has proposed a scheme to aid in the rebuilding of our population, and I would like the both of you to consider taking part.”

Garrus looks up at his father slowly, already dreading this conversation.

“Go on,” Solana answers, her gaze on their father still narrowed.

Castis inhales. “She is hosting events at her house in order to meet potential… bondmates. We are all invited. There will be members of High Command there. You can sign up for the repopulation scheme, or the marriage scheme—it all depends on whether you want to be, ah, subtle about it or not…”

“You…” Garrus almost chokes on his laughter. He can feel rage bubbling under his skin at the same time. “You want us to go to High Command _ orgies _?”

Castis’ jaw falls slack. “Garrus_ Vakarian _—”

Garrus waves a hand, unable to hold back the laughter. For a while the room is tense as Garrus laughs, but then Solana begins to laugh, too. She, at least, tries to cover her mouth in shame.

“Are you two quite finished?” Castis near growls.

“It’s just—it’s just that it’s like we’re all back to normal again,” Solana laughs. She lowers her head, a huff of laughter following. “Just minus Mom.”

At that, the family’s laughter falls short. Garrus’ gaze slowly moves to Solana, and to his surprise, he finds her gaze on his own.

“Tell him, Garrus,” Solana pleads.

Garrus groans, “Sol…”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” Garrus croaks, hiding his head in his hands. He peeks at his father through his fingers, a very human gesture for a turian so large.

Castis says coolly, his head tilting, “It doesn’t seem like nothing. Garrus, please—I thought these days of hiding things were over. We agreed on this when you told me about the Reapers—”

“Shepard,” Garrus blurts out, his voice hoarse as if her name hurts to speak. It does. It hurts his chest and makes his head spin, and he barely manages to explain, “I’m… I’m with Shepard.”

Castis stares at Garrus for what feels like the longest time, his blow plates shifting upwards just slightly. Turians have far less mobility in their facial features than humans, but Garrus is turian enough to understand that the movement is one of impatience.

Castis blinks and says, “And?”

Tense, Garrus looks between his father and sister. “And that’s it.”

Castis’ tone is judgemental as he says, “You think I wasn’t aware? After everything you told me—after C-Sec, Omega, the Omega 4 Relay, the Reapers… you think I didn’t guess?”

Garrus’ mouth falls slack, his heart beating fast. _ How could he _ — _ how could he— _

“I think I knew even before you,” Castis continues, almost bored. “Commanders die, Garrus, but their deaths don’t typically affect a soldier enough to make him quit his respectable C-Sec job and go on a killing spree on a filth-ridden asteroid in the middle of nowhere.”

Castis takes a breath before he asks, “Are you bonded?”

Garrus is tense as he responds, “Not traditionally, no, but—”

Castis cuts him off. “Then you will go with your sister to Octacia’s meeting and you will be a respectable example for this family. Our family name has risen in the wake of the war, Garrus, in case you have been too busy to notice. Before the war, we were at the very bottom of the ruling tier. Now we are in the middle. People died and there are spaces to be filled. There are duties we must tend to. Your attitude needs to cease.”

“You think I don’t _ know _ that people died?” Garrus growls. “You think I don’t—you think I’m not dealing with that right _ now? _”

Castis says, “When your mother died—”

“Don’t talk about Mom,” Garrus cuts him off. “Not now. I don’t want to hear it.”

“When your mother died,” Castis repeats, more sternly, “I did not allow myself to crumble. You should not either.”

Died. Crumble. _ Shepard’s not dead, _Garrus thinks, his eyes clenching shut.

“You will go to this meeting to accompany your sister, at the very least,” Castis orders. “You don’t have to attend again if you dislike it. But make sure Solana at least finds a suitable match.”

Garrus’ mandibles flare in annoyance, shock, irritation. Countless questions run through his mind. _ You want to talk about rank? _ he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. _ Solana should mate with somebody she loves, rank be damned. _

“I’m right here, Dad,” Solana grumbles, stabbing her food with her fork. Garrus is grateful for Solana to take over; he can’t think of anything to say that _won’t_ make his subvocals garbled with rage.

“Yes,” Castis responds, “and I will not have you bringing someone below us home.”

“But a Spectre is fine?” Solana snaps.

“If you can find a turian that has saved the galaxy, then I will make an allowance. For now, my dear daughter, I would prefer that you find someone that outranks yourself.”

“That what you’re doing with Octacia?” Solana demands pointedly. 

“Enough,” Castis orders sternly, his voice rising. “From the both of you.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Garrus mutters, unhooking his spurs from his seat as he pushes it backwards. “I think you’re right.”

Garrus has had enough for one evening. He stands, looking between his father and Solana. 

He tilts his head before he continues, “Thanks for the meal, Sol. It was great.”

And then he walks up to his room, his old room, the one he hasn’t slept in since Shepard was forced to stay in a cold Earth country for six months. Whatever his father and sister have to say about his sudden disappearance, he'll deal with it in the morning. But his room hosts a bed—a real, turian bed. Unlike the human death trap in Shepard’s cabin, this one is curved, with cushioned spaces in the headboard for Garrus to slot his fringe right into. The mattress is thick and the sheets are thin, just as Garrus likes it. He falls into the bed with ease.

The evening might have been a lot, but at least his father, as problematic as his proposal is, was able to distract him from the constant pain in his chest. The last thing Garrus thinks before he falls into a deep slumber is _ I can deal with this for now. _

_ I’ll be with you soon enough, Shepard. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Grumpy Garrus is back.
> 
> As usual, please let me know if you liked this chapter with either kudos or, even better, a comment. Comments make me very happy!
> 
> Love you guys lots!


	4. We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus attends an elite turian event with his father and sister, much to his dismay. The mood in his family begins to shift, but whether that's for better or for worse has yet to be seen.

“This is stupid,” Garrus sighs.

“No, you’re stupid,” Solana retorts.

She’s been pacing back and forth between the bathroom and her room for the best part of an hour now, and Garrus can’t help but find the behaviour strange. Solana has never been the type to fuss over how she looks; she has always said that as long as she is comfortable and her clan markings are neat, she’s content. Garrus doesn’t understand why she’s putting so much effort into trying to impress Octacia Sylvatus and her bunch of loyal followers. _ She’s just a turian, _ Garrus thinks, perching on the edge of his sister’s bed. _ If she really wanted to help turian society, she’d be out there helping to rebuild _ _ —not encouraging people to bring more hungry mouths into an already starving galaxy. _

Still, helping his sister decide on an outfit is better than waiting downstairs with his father, who will likely have plenty more demands to make of his son in regards to the upcoming event. Garrus feels ridiculous for even allowing himself to be pressured into this. But the idea that he could, at least, meet some high-ranking officials there, people that might be able to steer him in the direction of something _ meaningful _and worthwhile…

Shepard would want him to do something.

Garrus wants her to wake up to good news.

Solana throws a shirt at him, one that she discarded on the chair beside the mirror she stands before. “You’re making a big deal out of this for nothing,” she tells him.

Garrus glowers at her. “This doesn’t feel like nothing, Sol. _ Dad _doesn’t want this to be nothing.”

Solana rolls her eyes; he can see it in the reflection of the mirror. She is assessing herself carefully as she says, “It’s not like you’re bonded to her, Garrus. You’re free to do as you see fit. There’s no commitment here.”

Garrus resists a sigh and shakes his head. “Humans don’t view relationships the same way we do.”

At that, Solana looks at his reflection in the mirror and tilts her head. “Oh?”

Garrus clears his throat, looking away. “They don’t…” He struggles as he tries to think of the best way to phrase it, pausing for a short while before he responds, “Dating requires exclusivity, no matter whether you’re bonded or not. Dating for humans is like… like trial runs of being bondmates, I guess.”

Solana makes a noise of dissatisfaction that only a turian could hear as she turns back to the mirror. She tilts her head, giving herself a final glance over before she lets out a huff, and heads straight back to the bathroom. It’s adjoined to her bedroom and Garrus can’t see her once she’s in, so she leaves the door open as she begins to change into one of the many potential outfits she picked out earlier on.

Her voice is somewhat muffled as she says, “Sounds difficult. Too uncertain. I’m not here for half-loves.”

Garrus’ subvocals are defensive as he responds, his voice slightly risen so that Solana can hear, “What Shepard and I have isn’t a half-love. Our exclusivity isn’t something I’m unhappy with. Shepard is_ — _”

“Beautiful? Brave? Fearsome? Stunning? Talented?” Solana’s voice calls, and Garrus doesn’t understand what she’s talking about before she whines mockingly, “Oh, Shepard, my Shepard! Shepard, yes!”

Garrus groans, leaning back against the headboard of Solana’s bed. His fringe slots right into the holes, and his eyes close. “Stop it.”

Truth be told, it’s strange to discuss his relationship so openly. Garrus and Shepard limited their romantic interactions in public not because of the natural turian disdain for it, but because it felt like the right thing to do. One could hardly call their relationship professional, but they were able to at least pretend. Shepard didn’t want anyone calling her out on favouritism simply because she was in love, even if Garrus accompanied her to almost every mission they went on. 

There _ was _that time after she had vanished to Omega to fight a lone battle for Aria, though, and he had been so worried about her that he hadn’t been able to speak to her afterwards. Shepard had taken that personally; she had taken EDI and James on their next mission, which had been a personal blow—

Regardless, it’s easy for Garrus to fall quiet amidst his sister’s teasing. He simply doesn’t know how to entertain himself with idle gossip, especially not when it’s about his own love life. He keeps a steady eye on Shepard’s vitals as they roll past the screen to pass the time, but there’s no change.

There hasn’t been a change since Garrus left. If anything, the emails her doctors keep sending him are getting worse. _ Brain damage severely likely. Loss of speech possible. Losing muscle mass, most worryingly in legs. Spinal implant surgery underway; will help if re-learning to walk. Will only know full extent of damage if she wakes. Physical therapy required for extended period, upon awakening. However, brain activity score not positive. Possible amputation requi _—

When Solana finally emerges from the bathroom, Garrus is grateful to be distracted from his thoughts. Her underdress is grey and slightly transparent, but the sleeveless robe she wears over it is blue, their family colour. It glimmers like a human fabric Garrus remembers Shepard wearing at a formal event once, the material sleek but not at all form-hugging. But his sister has fastened the tie of her matching cloak around her waist, securing the fabric so that it leaves nothing to the imagination, and Garrus clears his throat at the sight. Suddenly, he is protective.

It’s not just the dress_ — _ it’s the _ blue. _ Blue is what red is to humans. It is the colour of their blood, and therefore it is the colour of romance, of love, of _ life. _He recalls Shepard saying she’d always get a lot more attention from men whenever she wore red. Garrus, however, would drop dead any time he’d see her in his species’ own equivalent.

Garrus sits up, simply perching on the edge of her bed, and allows himself time to process. Could Solana… _ want _ something like this, to find a bondmate in this way? Garrus has to remind himself that whether she does or not, her choice of attire doesn’t concern him. At least her _ spurs _aren’t out. He forces himself to think of something nice, but everything he thinks of sounds like a false courtesy. He and his sister are not used to giving direct compliments to one another, and so when Garrus finally speaks, it is with his mandibles flaring in amusement.

“I didn’t even know you owned a dress.”

Solana’s gaze on him narrows, her weight shifting from one leg to the other. She looks unimpressed. “Out of everything your commander taught you, she hasn’t gotten around to the _ giving compliments _part yet, huh?”

Garrus straightens. The idea of him upsetting his sister is not one he enjoys, and so he stands and takes what he hopes is a reaffirming step towards her. He wears a simple grey tunic and a darker cloak, the turian form of winter wear when temperatures dip as low as they have today, but even so, Garrus is grateful for it to at _ least _be warmer than it had been on the Normandy, or the Citadel.

“You look great, Sol,” Garrus responds, even though it sounds strange coming from his mouth. His fingers brush over his cloak, smoothing it down. “Really.”

“Thank you,” she says, bowing her head. “I know.”

Garrus lowers his head, letting out a small huff of laughter, but even so, the dampener on his subvocals is still there. He tries to tell himself that if Solana looks happy at this event, if she wants to contribute to this, then he will try to make the most of it for her. His sister finding happiness in such dark times is something he can at least see the good in—he just wishes he could have it for himself, too. Does he not deserve it?

_ Spirits, _ Garrus thinks, _ tell me what I’ve done wrong. Tell me what I should do to bring her back to me. _

“Well, there’s still time, at least,” Solana says, her hand gently grazing the back of Garrus’ own. 

Garrus is drawn from his thoughts, and he gives her a quizzical look. He didn’t even realise Solana had crossed the room to get closer to him. 

Solana continues, “When she wakes, I’m going to have to have a word with her about her teaching methods.”

Solana’s mandibles flare in a small smile before she turns on her heel and makes for the exit, but Garrus doesn’t follow. Something about her words makes his heart clench, forces him to a standstill at the spot he finds himself at. Solana shows no pity and she doesn’t choose her words carefully; she has and always will be on Garrus’ side, even if at times he _ knows _ drives her up the wall. All Garrus can do as he stands there is stare at the swish of her skirts as she walks, wondering all the while what he did to deserve such a beautiful sister.

If he believes Shepard will get out of this alive, then she will too. If he takes his relationship with Shepard seriously, then she will too.

For the first time since his mother died, Garrus is grateful to be home.

* * *

As they approach Octacia Sylvatus’ house, Garrus can’t help but think it’s like a diamond in the rough. Virtually untouched by the war, its pointed towers glitter as it reflects the light from the surroundings of the enormous suburban home, chromatic like mostly everything else in Cipritine. Windows line every wall, and Garrus, with his keen sniper’s eyes, can spot figures moving about within the many floors amidst a backdrop of flickering pink and purple lights. A soft thrum of music reaches his ears as their shuttle sets down on the house’s landing pad, and so, too, does the sound of chatter and conversation.

“Well,” Garrus comments, more out of nervousness than anything, “Sylvatus sure knows how to set the mood.”

Solana, in the seat behind Castis and Garrus, chuckles. “If she didn’t, I’d be disappointed. Haven’t you seen her romance segments?”

Garrus shudders. “No, and I’m grateful for it.”

Castis sighs. “Please at least try to speak to people tonight, Garrus. Simply moping in the corner will _ not _do.”

Garrus’ mandibles flare in amusement. “Don’t worry, dad,” he says, as the skycar door hisses open, and Castis’ mandibles fall slack in dread. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh,” his father says, swallowing thickly, “good.”

He sounds like the volus he and Shepard threatened on the Citadel in order to track down Fist, and even Solana’s sudden presence at his side can’t hide the amused rumble of his subharmonics.

But that amused rumble of laughter ceases as soon as Garrus turns and finds a camera trained on him. In fact, there are cameras all over the place, and Garrus tenses at the sight. 

Quietly, Garrus murmurs, “Why is there press here?”

Solana half-rolls her eyes as she looks at him. “It’s Octacia Sylvatus’ event,” she responds. “You really thought she’d do this privately?”

In truth, he hadn’t even considered it. He tried not to think about this event in the days that passed before it, because the thought of it unsettled him in a way he couldn’t understand. The idea of Shepard waking up with him not there only to find out he’s attending a borderline _barbaric _event in order to bond people in order to have them have _babies _in the wake of war…

Perhaps his reasoning is irrational, because Shepard always, _ always _understands, but the cameras don’t help his nerves.

Garrus takes a deep breath. “More like hoped.”

Once they’re inside, however, the evening passes fairly quickly. Garrus tries his best to avoid the cameras and, although he finds it inconvenient to have to keep shifting to avoid them, he ends up actually enjoying some of the conversations that he has. He speaks to fellow soldiers and dignitaries and even military medics, all with their own stories about the war and all varying in severity. They look just as worn as Garrus does, only he’s certain they’re hiding it better.

Garrus has never been one for hiding. Running, yes, but not hiding.

An hour in, he’s been bombarded with enough flirtatious advances to last him a lifetime, and Garrus deems it time enough to escape. While a few years ago Garrus might have been thrilled to hear such a fact, all it does now is upset him.

The only flirting he wants to do is with Shepard, and she can’t even breathe on her own.

He manages to find a secluded balcony which overlooks the rolling canyon below, just a few lights twinkling on the dry planes. It’s easy to lose himself in the lives of the people down there, what they might be doing, who they might be doing that thing with. Do they feel they safe? Are they surviving? Do they look up to the gated community Octacia lives in with envy? It’s strange to be attending a celebration such as this when people are starving.

What would Shepard say? Garrus, for one, doesn’t think that she would like this. It’s not his style and it's not Shepard's, either—with people struggling outside and Shepard in hospital, it feels wrong to even take a glimpse at fun. He wonders if this is how Shepard felt every time she went to Purgatory on shore leave, and he also wonders if this feeling was why he found her fast asleep on Aria’s couch more times than not.

“Officer Vakarian,” a voice sounds from behind him, feminine and flirtatious and almost teasing, and Garrus tenses. “What are you doing out here on your own?”

Garrus turns to find Octacia Sylvatus is standing behind him. She’s older than him with emerald green eyes and creamy skin. Her markings are purple and extend across her brows and down past her eyes. Garrus doesn't care enough to take in what she’s wearing; all he notices is that it’s long and swishy and some sort of fancy material he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to afford. Garrus’ family might be a moderately wealthy one, but he_ himself_ has made his own way in life, and… well. His vigilante’s salary didn't leave much for savings, that’s for sure.

“Just catching a breath of air,” Garrus says, truthfully. He wants nothing more than to tell this woman to shove off, but this is her home and he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of such a rash action. “You, ah, know who I am?”

Octacia fixes him with a bemused look. “Of course. How could I not? I invited you. Besides," she sighs, thumbing the heavy jewellery around her neck, "You’re the most famous man at this party.”

Although Garrus freezes at her statement, he doesn’t believe her. There are soldiers here that have far more established names than he does, and even with the last name _ Vakarian _he still feels more comfortable being called _ Archangel. _He can’t stop the furrow of his brow plates in response to Octacia’s question, but he doesn’t have to ask for her to elaborate.

“Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if you would attend. When I extended the invitation to your family, I expected to simply see your father and your dear sister Solana. There are… rumours, you see. And as a turian ambassador, I must keep up to date with them.”

Octacia takes a step or two closer to him, closing the distance between them. Garrus grows increasingly uncomfortable. If he could become one with the wall in order to put more distance between the two of them, he would.

“I am very,” Octacia purrs, her head tilting up to look at him, “very pleased that you are here.”

She extends a hand seductively towards Garrus' chest and he slides out of her way like he would evade a bullet.

“Thank you, Octacia,” Garrus blurts out, unsure of exactly what he’s thanking her for. “But I—I, ah… have somebody. Special. Thank you.”

One of her brow plates rise. “Oh?”

Garrus nods, swallowing thickly. “Yes. She’s—ah, she’s not…”

“Not here?” Octacia finishes. Garrus nods once more. Why is he so nervous?

“On another planet?”

“Yeah.”

“Hospitalised after destroying the Reapers and saving the lives of everybody in the galaxy?”

“Yes. I mean—what—you… _what?”_

Octacia’s face lights up with glee, and Garrus’ eyes widen with horror.

“There you have it, folks,” Octacia says, turning to the face an invisible audience. Garrus blinks, frantically looking around to spot any cameras present, but he doesn’t see anything until a drone begins to_ bzz, bzz, bzz _ towards the balcony. “ _ Proof _ that Commander Shepard lives, and also proof that she and Reaper Specialist Vakarian are an _ item! _”

Octacia spins and turns back to Garrus. “You’re officially the first turian-human celebrity couple ever! How’s the Commander doing? Is she well? Why hasn’t she come out of hiding yet? The people have questions, Officer Vakarian, and—”

“Octacia,” Castis growls from behind Garrus, the doors to the balcony thrown wide open.

Garrus has never been more glad to hear his father’s voice. 

Octacia’s face falls only slightly, because in the next instant, her facade is back up. “Castis, darling. Your son and I were having such a _lovely_ little chat.”

Castis’ gaze is cold as he looks between the two of them. “I see that.”

Octacia’s gaze flickers between the two Vakarian men, uncertain. “Well, would you like to join us? You’re more than welcome. After all, this gathering is in part your doing too—”

“No, thank you,” Castis responds.

He is fixing Octacia with a narrowed gaze that Garrus has seen him fix criminals with before. Garrus can’t stop the way his mandibles flicker, both in amusement and, in truth, unrest. There are not a lot of things in the galaxy that can scare him anymore, but Castis’ glare… 

Well. It’s certainly not a pretty sight, being the focus of it.

“Garrus,” Castis’ attention averts to his son, “come with me.”

Octacia opens her mouth to speak, but before she’s able to, Vakarian and Vakarian are moving. Soon enough, the balcony has long since disappeared behind them. Castis keeps moving as he speaks and Garrus knows why; this place feels like enemy territory. He’s antsy. He wants to keep moving, a soldier’s instincts, and Garrus feels the same. 

By the time they finally come to a halt, it is in some sort of living room slash art gallery, a few people milling about but in truth not very many. They look bored. Solana is the brightest in the room, welcoming and talkative as she speaks with a turian woman at the far end of the gallery.

She glances over to Garrus, her eyes narrowing. It is a silent question: _Everything okay?_

Garrus merely nods, his gaze returning to Castis.

“I should have known her concerns for the community weren’t genuine,” Castis says, his dark eyes darting around the room. “She has gathered everybody here in order to get information out of them, I expect. We should—”

Garrus cuts his father off, demanding quietly, “Why were you spending time with someone like that?”

Castis’ shoulders straighten, defensive. “She seemed different.”

Garrus lets out a huff of laughter. “Different. Sure. Or maybe it was the flashy house and the nice clothes she wears. Maybe you were blinded by all of it.”

Castis’ mandibles are clenched tight to his face as he retorts, “Have you ever known me to be swayed by such insubstantial things, Garrus?”

Garrus takes a moment to respond. “No,” he admits, though not happily, “I haven’t.”

Garrus remembers that his own mother was caked in the dirt of war when Castis met her, and the fact that she had the bluest eyes and the most beautiful waist he’d ever seen had hardly mattered to him. Garrus has heard this story hundreds of times. It was his mother’s wit that attracted him to her; her passion for her community, her love of life, her dedication to her roots. But Garrus doesn’t want to be here in the first place, and his father is the easiest person to take his frustration out on right now. 

“This war…” Castis near-whispers, and the unfamiliar sound of pained, keening constraint in his subvocals is enough to draw a similar sound from Garrus’ own throat, “It has changed so much, Garrus. I wanted something to go right for a change.”

Oh, Garrus understands. His thoughts are drawn back to the way he desperately clutched at Shepard’s soft, human skin on that night before the Omega relay; how as soon as she had suggested that they spend more time together, he had wanted her every minute since; how he had marvelled at his willingness to try something so new, so alien, and then marvelled at how long it had taken him to realise that _ this _ was right, _ is _right, and that they should have done this sooner…

The terse sound that comes Garrus’ subvocals makes the turians around them eye him, most likely concerned for his well-being. He cannot be hard on his father, now, not when he has expressed such a relatable sentiment. Garrus can’t… he can’t _imagine _the way he would have felt if Shepard had turned around on that night that they reeled towards the Omega 4 Relay and said, _ Actually, no, you big ugly turian, I don’t want this. _

Castis asks, “Do you remember how your mother used to host those parties?”

Garrus’ gaze flits around the room briefly. There aren't many people on this level, but he can make them out well enough. He sees the dignitaries with their stiff backs garbed in their finest formalwear; he sees the soldiers, a heavy weight on their shoulders and clouding the brightness of their eyes; he sees the medics, the way they linger in the corners of the room, observing quietly out of habit. They seem restless, and there are even some signs of boredom, but he sees no signs of happy, gleeful turians anywhere in this room. This is something they have felt forced to do, just like himself.

Garrus answers, perhaps too quickly, “They were never like this.”

“But they always brought everybody so much joy,” Castis responds. Thankfully, the noise in Garrus’ throat has stopped, and so too has Castis’ own. “But I suppose that was your mother’s effect, not the parties themselves. I should have known…” he shakes his head.

“I get it, Dad,” Garrus mutters. 

Castis’ gaze remains lowered, and he closes his eyes. This is the most defeated Garrus has ever seen him, and the sight of his father, as strong and prideful as he is, reduced to this… it unsettles him. In fact, it makes him feel a little bit sick. But this is the most genuine Garrus has ever seen him and there is something worthwhile to that. Garrus doesn’t know what it is, can't place it in words, but his father allowing his true emotions to show… 

Garrus gestures to Solana with an inclination of his head, and Solana, a military woman, understands what the gesture means. She excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way over to them, subtle worry in her bright blue eyes.

“Is everything okay?” She murmurs softly, her fingers brushing against her brother and father’s own.

“Come on,” Garrus murmurs, his hand finding Castis’ shoulder. “I’ll explain in the car. Let’s go home.”

* * *

“She said _ what _to you?” Solana growls, leaning forwards from her seat in the back.

At this rate, she might as well be a passenger in the front. Her head pokes out between the two seats and Garrus, when he looks across at his dejected father in the passenger seat, is met with his sister’s outraged gaze. Garrus is reminded of all the times her father told him to put his seatbelt back on when he’d unbuckle it as a child. _ Where’s that now, dad? _he thinks, glancing past Solana and to his father in the seat beside him. 

Castis Vakarian looks incredibly tired. Garrus has only seen his father look like this when he was deep in mourning, and in truth, it worries him as much as it reminds him that his father is a real, three dimensional person with feelings.

“It doesn’t matter,” Garrus sighs, frowning deeply as his hands clench on the steering wheel. 

Actually, it does. Shepard will wake for the entire galaxy to know of their relationship. He thinks, hopes, that Shepard will laugh about this when she wakes up. It might even all be over by the time she’s awake.

Solana exclaims, “She’s going to tell the entire galaxy that you and Shepard are—are—well, whatever you’re doing, before she has a chance to claim you in public!”

The idea of such a public display of affection makes Garrus tense. Marriage with Shepard is desirable, of course, and he thinks he might just about be the happiest groom in the entire universe, but it just so happens that turians are private about the whole affair. 

“Humans,” he simply shrugs, still trying to shrug off the embarrassment he feels from such a concept. Garrus makes a final turn and the Vakarian family home looms before them, silent and as sterile-looking as the Normandy's med-bay. “I doubt she’ll care.”

Solana makes a noise that, if she were human, would most likely be seen physically in a shudder. He finds it amusing whenever that happens to Shepard; it happens around husks, or banshees, or rachni. And spiders. He understands the spiders.

“Weird,” Solana mutters, sitting back in her seat. Her arms fold. “You’d think they’d be less bothered about nudity if they’re alright with public displays like that.”

Garrus eyes his sister in the mirror as the shuttle car rumbles to a stop. “How do you know about humans and their... private preferences?”

Solana rolls her eyes and makes to speak, but Castis gets there first. “We’re home,” he says from the passenger seat. 

Solana glances between Castis and Garrus as if to say, _ what's his problem? _

Garrus shakes his head in response, but he doesn't make a move. Their father has always been impatient, and waiting inside small spaces just isn’t something he seems to be a fan of. But as Solana vacates the car, the door closing shut behind her with a soft hiss, Castis doesn’t make an effort to move. Garrus doesn’t either.

There is silence between the two of them for a while. Garrus wonders what’s going through his head as he watches Solana open the door to the house and switch on the lights, and he finds a small slither of relief in the blue that lights up the living area. It reminds him of Shepard’s biotics, of her charging at an Atlas when armed with just a shotgun and her willpower, and his mandibles flicker as love blossoms in his chest.

Garrus says, “I think you’d like her, Dad.”

Castis blinks, his attention turning to his son suddenly, but he doesn’t say a word.

“I mean, if you really tried,” Garrus continues.

More silence.

“She always does what she thinks is right. She always tries to help,” Garrus explains. “Too much, I’d say. But it’s always for the best.”

There is more silence. Garrus feels himself growing more tense by the second.

And then Castis Vakarian slowly nods, gets out of the car, and makes his way rigidly inside the house.

Garrus thinks that’s a good sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was really fun, if not tricky, to get Castis' character down. He's a very smart man and can be very cynical, so it was difficult to get that across while also showing how much he really wanted something which he thought could help, to go right.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos and kind comments so far, and I hope you continue to love reading these chapters as much as I love writing them!


	5. Right Hand Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus deals with the aftermath of Octacia's show and meets with Primarch Victus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: There is a mention of my Shepard's first name in this chapter. I know it can be a little jarring when reading someone else's Shepard's first name, so I figure a warning might help to read it better.

“Shepard?” Garrus croaks, his hand stroking her hair away from her face. She has said something, something inaudible, but he knows. He has heard. He would recognise her voice anywhere.

Shepard blinks; once, twice, then smiles. Her hands are soft as her fingers find Garrus’ own, her touch weak as she lies, blankets covering her fragile body, in her hospital bed.

“Garrus,” Shepard smiles, sleepy-eyed. 

“I thought… I thought you were dead,” he chokes. His subvocals are ringing with a keening noise that Shepard cannot hear, but she knows the telltale signs by now: the forward arch of his shoulders, the inclination of his head… 

“Alive and kicking, Garrus,” she says, her fingers caressing the scarred skin of his mandible, “alive and kicking.”

Garrus lowers his head to her stomach gently, a silent sob wracking his body, and the scene shifts.

They are in his family home. Solana, their mother, and Castis have all gathered to meet Shepard. His father treats Shepard with respect, thanks her for saving the galaxy, and Solana polishes off her weapons arsenal while Shepard helps his mother in the garden. She smiles at him through her envirosuit as she kneels beside his mother, the human’s brown hues glittering with love, and Garrus cannot help the way his mandibles flutter in reciprocation as he watches her with awe.

He loves her. He has never loved another person like this before. He has never felt so strongly for another being, ever, never.

Shepard pulls her helmet off to say something to him, her smile wider than he’s seen in months, and then she bursts into flame.

It starts with her hair, the fragile strands he loves so much catching flame from the tips up to the top of her head. Next comes her face, dripping away, falling falling falling, revealing the implants underneath that barely hold her together; then her neck, then her chest, then her arms and waist, oh, her waist, her legs and knees and feet and —

Nobody moves an inch.

“Shepard!” Garrus cries, taking a few frantic steps forward.

The flame spreads faster than Garrus can move. Slowly, it engulfs his mother, and he endures losing her all over again; it engulfs the back of the house, takes Solana with it, takes his father in his study, engulfs the entirety of his home until there’s nothing left…

The fire spreads, and spreads, and spreads, until all of Palaven is burning and there is nothing left.

Apart from him. He is immune to the fire, just as he is immune to her lies: _I’m fine,_ she often says dismissively, curling into him for comfort.

_I’m fine,_ she would still say, bursting into flame.

He is left the last one standing, the last of his kind, and yet the loss of one person, one alien, hurts him more than the complete and utter loss of his own species.

Garrus wakes with a jolt, reaching out for Shepard on the other side of the bed, and only then does he remember the reality of the waking world.

He lets himself fall back onto his bed with a deep sigh, his eyes closing. He wants desperately to go back to sleep, to try to dream of something sweeter. But it is the muffled sound of voices outside his window that prevents him from doing so, and reluctantly, Garrus’ eyes open. A soldier’s instincts say it might not be safe; he doesn’t want to take any chances. It is a moment later that he moves himself from his bed and presses the pad of his forefinger against the blind controls, allowing him a glimpse at the scene outside. The scene does not spark joy.

That morning marks the beginning of one long week of reporter after reporter gathering outside his home. Octacia Sylvatus’ show has never seen such high ratings; everybody is searching for a slither of news about Commander Shepard after the war, and here Garrus is, alluding to the fact that she’s still alive and that they’re together. The fact that the information was divulged while at a high-class _ mating _ party is just the icing on the cake, and oh, Octacia doesn’t leave _ any _details out.

“They want to know when you’re planning on making her your bondmate,” Solana tells him after dinner one evening, when it’s just the two of them washing up. “Spirits, they even asked me in the streets!”

Garrus makes a noise of disapproval as he puts away a metallic plate. “You should tell them to mind their own damn business.”

Solana eyes him, one mandible clenched tight to her face as she puts a dish aside. “I know you’re upset, Garrus, but they want news. They want hope.”

Garrus’ subvocals clearly show his bitterness_ . _ “So do I,” he says, taking a long, deep breath afterwards. _ So do I. _

It’s only later when Garrus slinks off to his room that he finds the time to look over his email, a frequent occurrence for him in the evenings. Typically, there isn’t much to reply to. Garrus replies very sparingly to his mail; a little _ I’m fine _ or _ glad to hear you’re doing well, _but never anything too extensive. He needs time. Most of his friends get that, and he replies to the few that do. Tali. Liara. Traynor. Vega. Tali is worried about him; Liara sends regular updates and provides useful information when necessary; Traynor sends him motivational pictures featuring small, fragile animals; Vega misses how it used to be on the Normandy, asks to be kept updated, and wants to meet up for a drink next time they’re both near Earth.

Most don’t pretend that they understand his reasoning behind running, but they remind him that they’re there for him anyway. Miranda. Kaidan. Hell, even Grunt shoots him a message. Miranda sends him regular updates in regards to Shepard, and those he always saves; Kaidan understands what he’s going through, something which puts a bitter taste in Garrus’ mouth—he has never really forgiven him for Horizon, for doubting Shepard, for aiming a gun at her, for constantly acting so entitled—; Grunt tells him _ it’s okay to be sad _ because _ Shepard was a fearsome Battlemaster _ whose _ death will be mourned. _ Garrus doesn’t have the energy to respond back with a reminder that Shepard is still alive.

Others are less understanding. Joker. Wrex. Javik. Jack. Their emails are riddled with confusion, with anger, with accusatory undertones Garrus is sure would hurt to hear in person if his friends were turian. Joker calls him a coward, says that he’s mourning too; Wrex tells him to be strong, not to run and hide, in far more colourful words; Javik doesn’t understand why Garrus is upset, because Shepard’s job is complete and she’ll go down in history as a hero; Jack uses all the swear words she’s not allowed to use around her students and compiles them into one email, finalising it with a promise that he’s getting a punch to the face next time she sees him.

But there is one email that stands out from the rest: _ Urgent message from Primarch Victus. _

Garrus’ gaze flickers to and fro, back and forth, as he takes the words in. He rereads the message again and again, wondering perhaps if he has done something wrong or if there is some sort of _ clue _in the email as to what Victus wants, but the reality of it is simple: Primarch Victus wants to see him. 

_ Primarch Victus wants to see me. _

For a moment, Garrus wonders if somehow the segment on Octacia’s show has pissed Victus off. But then the more rational side of him takes over and he asks, _ why would it? _ Victus doesn’t even care for dignitaries and he’d hardly care about what some jumped-up journalist has to say about Garrus’ own love life. _ No, _ Garrus thinks, _ war is in Victus’ bones. He said it himself. _This has something to do with the military, maybe even the turian fleet—has Victus found a fatal error in a command Garrus gave, or a bone to pick in regards to his actions at the time? Garrus is nervous to find out.

He wastes no time in doing so, arranging a time and place for them to meet as soon as possible. But when the day finally comes, Garrus finds himself checking that his omnitool did indeed direct him to the right place. He is driving towards a military area filled with makeshift prefabs and training grounds that remind him of his days in basic. It’s only once he sees the technical transparency of a large blue door, alongside guards on either side, that Garrus shifts the shuttle to the left a little, aiming in the direction of the entrance. _ Why did Victus want to meet here? _

The hum of his shuttle comes to a slow stop in front of the barrier. Garrus presses the control for the window to lower, allowing for one of the guards to peer inside.

“Garrus Vakarian,” he announces himself.

“Omnitool,” the guard says, his subvocals only just hiding his boredom.

Garrus offers the man his wrist, his ID on show, and the guard looks through some logs on his Omnitool for_ one, two, three _—

“Alright. Good to go.”

Garrus nods in thanks, but the guard is too busy waving a hand to his colleague to notice. The tech door fades away and Garrus’ shuttle hums back to life, and it is only after he crosses the threshold of the camp that the familiar smells and sounds of the turian military returns to him. It’s different to the Normandy and reminds him briefly of Menae, only minus the overwhelming threat of death. But he can hear soldiers sparring, somebody barking orders, and he can smell shitty turian rations and all the other unkind smells that Garrus has gotten used to by now.

When his shuttle is parked, there is an asari waiting for him a few metres away. She marches towards him and Garrus eyes her warily, looking for weapons or a sign that might tell him what Victus wants from him.

“Reason for visitation?” She asks, strangely deadpan for one of her kind. Garrus wonders if her father is turian; turian-asari children would sometimes train with them or work in areas of the military most commonly frequented by full-blooded turians. Garrus never had a problem with it as long as they could do their job, but he recalls a few soldiers who found their presence _ very _encouraging.

“I’m here to see Primarch Victus.”

The asari’s eyes light up. “Ah! Officer Vakarian. Right this way.”

_ She knows who I am and why I’m here, _Garrus thinks, and he isn’t sure whether the feeling in his chest is one of shameful pride or worry. He doesn’t like people knowing his business, not unless he knows them personally. But he trusts Victus, and that much he has to remind himself of; if it were somebody like Udina, he might be far more worried. In fact, it’s unlikely that he’d have responded in the first place, from what Shepard has told him of the late counsellor. But this is Victus, a man who he has taken orders from and fought beside, and so Garrus forces himself to settle for the time being.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at what he assumes is Victus’ prefab, or at least where he’s working for now. The outside is chromatic and the inside hosts a simple desk, a sofa opposite, a table and chairs and a door which presumably leads to a closed-off section, likely where he’ll find Victus. Garrus makes sure to take in every aspect of his surroundings. Out of habit, he analyses every door, every window, every space that could be used for cover. There aren’t a lot of the latter, but Garrus doesn’t have time to worry about that; Victus emerges from his office as soon as the asari informs him of Garrus’ arrival.

“Vakarian,” Victus greets him, giving him a nod, “it’s good to see you in one piece.”

“Likewise, sir,” Garrus responds simply. What else is there to say? He’s too unsure of what his _ purpose _ here is to say anything more; what business could Victus possibly have with him?

Victus’ inclines his head to the door he had just emerged from and says, “Follow me.”

Garrus does just that, following until they are settled in an adequate office lined with a few static-looking bookshelves. Somebody has attempted to make it look homely by adding in a few plants here and there, alongside an armchair in the corner near what Garrus presumes extends to some kind of bathroom or private room. Other than the armchair, all that this office hosts is a desk, the chair Victus sits in, and two chairs opposite him. Garrus settles in one of them somewhat awkwardly.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Victus says. “I’ll admit, I was relieved to see you in the media, regardless of how, ah… _ trivial _,” Garrus can see a glint of amusement in his eyes, “the circumstances were.”

A low hum of consideration sounds from Garrus’ chest. “Mm. That was… uh, not intentional. I came back to see my family, to… see Palaven.”

“Understandable. Are they well?”

Garrus mimics Victus’ nod, only slower. “Father’s fine. My sister, Solana, she broke her leg escaping Palaven, but she’s alright.”

_ Tell me why I’m here, _ Garrus thinks, his impatience growing _ . I need to know _—

Victus nods, standing from his chair to view the outside through the large window behind his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about your time commanding the fleet.”

Garrus feels his stomach drop, so much so that he can't admire Victus' straightforwardness. _ Spirits, what did I do? _Garrus glances over every decision he made, every call he wasn’t sure of but pushed ahead with anyway in the name of the greater good; Shepard had told him not to worry, had said he’s a good leader, had said that if she could trust the turian fleet in anyone’s hands, it would be Garrus… 

Garrus isn’t even sure one would need subvocals to hear the anxiety in his voice as he says, “Ah.”

Victus turns his head to look at him, his hands folded behind his back. “How did you do it?”

Garrus blinks. “Sir?”

“Our fleet has never been in more capable hands, as it turns out. We anticipated heavy losses in the battle for Earth, but under your command, and in the most high-stakes war the turian hierarchy has ever seen, we suffered a significantly less amount of losses than we ever would have expected. You did well. Exceptionally well.”

Garrus can feel nerves building in his stomach even despite the surprisingly good news. What is this? Some kind of prank? He’d done what he thought was right; he’d done what he thought would be _ best _for their chances of survival, to defeat the Reapers, and he hadn’t been entirely certain in his actions half of the time. He isn’t confident in his skills as a leader. Look what happened the last time he tried to take command of a squad!

“Sir, I… I don’t know what to say,” Garrus manages to croak out. His vocal chords feel tight.

Victus shakes his head. “No need. As of tomorrow, your official title will be Fleet Commander. I know it might not seem like much since you were already doing it, but damn, Garrus. We need you.”

Garrus blinks. Once, twice, three times. 

“Sir?”

Victus’ mandibles flare out in amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re confused.”

“Wh—well, yeah, I am. You really…” Garrus straightens, swallowing a lump in his throat. He moves to scratch at his fringe nervously. “To be truthful, sir, when you gave me command of the fleet, I just figured there was no one left for the job. You really… want _ me? _A failed C-Sec Officer—”

It’s Victus’ turn to blink, his head tilting. “You served as Reaper Advisor on Menae, commanded soldiers there, commanded the fleet without a question when I asked you to, fought on Earth during the final push, served as the XO on the _ Normandy _—”

“That was unofficial—” 

Victus fixes him with a stern look. “And you’re telling me you don’t understand why you’re being promoted?”

Garrus swallows. Perhaps he does understand, now that Victus mentions it, but whether or not he deserves to be promoted is a different story. Him? In charge of the fleet… permanently? _Do I deserve this?_ _I’m running, running so far away when the entire crew of the Normandy needs me to hold them together… _

It’s not like they’re really an official crew anymore, not when the majority of them are split across the galaxy, but he remembers how they looked to him for guidance during those weeks when they were crash landed. He can’t help but feel like he’s disappointing them. He’d been Shepard’s unofficial XO during the war and command had fallen to him after. Who else? Garrus joined her on almost every mission, Tali and himself as Shepard’s favourite ground team, and it seemed natural for him to take charge. He needed it, too. He needed something to distract his thoughts with.

Those weeks were one of the times he wished that Kaidan was back with them, that Shepard had let him rejoin the Normandy rather than letting him make his own name in the war. It would've been useful to have Kaidan around in the weeks when they were crash landed. Shepard had let him go because the Normandy served no purpose for him any more, and that was exactly why they needed him. He knows what he's doing.

“You’ll have a good salary, an official title, and somebody to report back to,” Victus tells him. The Primarch turns back to face him expectantly.

Briefly, Garrus allows himself the fantasy of what his and Shepard’s house might look like with such a salary. He pictures a garden like his mother’s, he pictures a fully-stocked armoury, and perhaps selfishly, he imagines far more than one level, with a few guest rooms for their friends. It is Palaven that he imagines them living on, and it is only then that he remembers that the dream he has is an impossible one.

The image of Shepard bursting into flame is a mere flash inside of his head, but it makes his mandibles clench nonetheless. Shepard would need an envirosuit to even step foot on his planet, nevermind stay for a prolonged amount of time. Besides… they’d talked about a beach. Turian-human babies. Who is he to deny her of that?

“I… I can’t, sir.”

_ There are too many what ifs, _ Garrus swiftly realises. _ I can’t accept a promotion blindly. _Shepard might need him at any moment and there is nothing that will stop Garrus from going to her. If he were to vanish, abandon his duties for the sake of helping the love of his life heal, Garrus wouldn’t care very much at all… which is exactly the problem. Victus is a man that is able to inspire Garrus with respect, a rare feat for somebody of his own species. He won’t have his actions reflect badly on Victus. 

He struggles to say anything more in the wake of the offer Victus gives him, unable to do anything but watch as Victus’ brow plates rise almost patronisingly. If Garrus had less respect for the turian, he might be offended. But even_ he _ is able to comprehend just how _ delusional _ he sounds, turning down an offer like this, one made by the _ Primarch _himself…

“Might I ask why?” Victus asks. Though he might have asked a question, his words are an order: _ you'd better have a good reason. _

“I might have to leave Palaven sooner rather than later,” Garrus explains, hopes, as his voice wavers somewhat. _ Shepard, please. _

Slowly, Victus lets out a breath, one mandible fluttering in thought. He observes Garrus briefly.

“The Commander?”

The incline of Garrus’ head is small, a sign of affirmation. He is tired of talking about Shepard to anybody who thinks that his business is their business, anybody who wants answers, anybody who knows that they worked together—or worse, _ are _ together. He is constantly pelted with invasive questions from reporters: _ how is the Commander? Where is she now? Why aren’t you with her? Are you going back to Earth? _ Garrus can’t help but think it would be easier to deal with, to _ laugh _about, if Shepard was with him. 

Victus says, “That won’t be a problem.”

Garrus blinks, the upwards snap of his head sharp as he looks at the Primarch. “Sir?”

“Commander Shepard saved the galaxy, Commander Vakarian,” Victus answers, “and she saved plenty of our peoples’ lives, too. If you say she needs you, then she needs you. I trust her judgement. I don’t expect she is the type of woman to require your presence merely to have you warm her bed.”

Garrus merely stares, his mouth and mandibles slack.

Victus continues, “If you can handle commanding the turian fleets while serving on the Normandy, you can handle commanding them by the Commander's side. Our fleet has become beyond a mess in the weeks that you’ve been absent. I had to—hmph,” Victus cuts himself off, rubbing at his forehead. “We need order, Vakarian. You managed to lighten the load during the war and I need you to do that again now.”

Garrus is certain he can hear ringing in his ears. _ Did I eat today? _ He can’t remember, but he regrets it. When he had come here, he hardly expected to be promoted; he had expected a reprimand, perhaps, and for him to have to start all over again. He’d thought he could try C-Sec a third time, maybe, if the Citadel’s repairs _ ever _manage to get done. But this…

This is exactly what he needs. From this position, he can help—he can put an end to that restless feeling, prioritise fleet activity in all the right places. Victus is right. If he can command the fleet during a war, he can certainly do it while looking over the woman who often seems like the _ goddess _of it.

“Alright,” Garrus starts, taking a deep, slow breath, “show me what I’m dealing with.”

* * *

Hannah Shepard calls two days later.

He doesn't mean to accept the call. He's too busy cleaning his rifle for the third time that week to pay attention to who's calling, and in truth, he assumes it's Victus. They keep their conversations short and formal, Garrus giving him regular updates on the fleet's progress; while it's only been two days since his promotion, Garrus has found that there is a _lot _of work that needs to be done. He typically takes his calls on his terminal, so when it begins to beep with the telltale signs of an incoming call, he accepts the call and thinks nothing of it.

“Nice rifle,” Rear-Admiral Hannah Shepard’s voice rings through his bedroom.

Garrus straightens as if a gun has just touched the back of his neck. He pauses, his fingers hovering over the barrel he was in the midst of removing from his gun. 

“Hannah,” Garrus answers, already dreading this conversation. His eyes remain trained on his gun. He should say something else, anything more, but he’s already panicking. He didn't give her a reason for his absence from Shepard's bedside, but he's sure one of the crew managed to. Still, that doesn't make this situation any better.

“It’s Admiral, thank you,” she answers pointedly. Garrus feels sick. “And in truth, I don’t really see why I’m calling you at all. But I suppose I’m mourning the turian I saw at my daughter’s bedside just as much as I’m mourning_ her_, so here we are.”

If Garrus were human, his skin would pale. _Mourning?_

_ No, _ he tells himself, _ Liara would tell me. Liara would… Liara would know. _ She’d see the records and tell him and all hell would break loose. Palaven would burst into flame. _ Clarify, _ Garrus thinks, but he forces something a little more _ human _from his mouth. 

“What?” He breathes, looking up at his terminal's screen. Hannah is dressed in her Alliance blues, her hair tied back in a tight bun atop his head, just like Shepard used to wear before stress prompted her to wear it down more. She doesn't look like she's in a hospital; she looks like she's in a ship, and from the quiet hum he can hear through the terminal's speakers, it_ sounds_ like she is, too.

“You left,” Hannah says sternly.

_ Not that, _ Garrus thinks, his hands splaying out on the desk in front of him to support his suddenly weak knees. _ I don’t care that I left. Tell me. _ “You… you said you’re _ mourning. _”

Hannah sighs. "The doctors want to turn off Noma's life support."

The growl that slips from his chest is uncontrollable. "They _what_?"

"So you do care," Hannah quips, sitting back in her chair. Her arms fold. "Surprising."

"I left because my family needed me," Garrus says, and for once, it's the truth. "Palaven was hit hard—"

"Admiral, please," Garrus begs, his eyes closing, and he has no shame. "I need to know what's happening."

There is a pause, tense and painful and_ raw_, so raw, before Hannah speaks. "I told them to go ahead with it. Her brain activity isn't improving, Garrus, not even with all the implants they've given her, and—"

Garrus' eyes open wide. "You _what?"_

"She deserves to rest," Admiral Shepard solemnly responds. She makes a noise that would likely be the turian equivalent of keening, and yet despite this, all Garrus can feel is rage.

The feeling in his gut makes his throat so tight that it's painful. There are so many thoughts swimming through his head that it feels like there are none, and it makes it hard to talk. He swallows, and that makes it worse. 

"You can't," he says, even though he knows that Hannah is right. “they can’t. They _can’t. _I won’t let them—”

“I’ve already given them the go-ahead, Vakarian.”

There's that noise again. It's not static, but—ringing. Some kind of high pitched noise. He heard it when he got a rocket to the face, too. Somehow, this feels worse.

Hannah continues, “Somebody should be there with her in her last few hours.”

"You're not going back?"

“No,” Hannah answers. “I’ve returned to active duty.”

And with that, Garrus shuts off the call.

Even if he had time to think over his actions, he likely still wouldn't have felt regret. He's too busy trying to control his breathing, trying to—to regain control of _anything, _Spirits, any part of his body that might make him feel like he's more present than he feels right now. How is it that he has control over what remains of an entire fleet, but he can't save the life of one person? 

_Breathe, _Garrus tries to tell himself. _Breathe._

It feels like hours before he is able to compose himself enough to return to his terminal. His fingers have never moved faster as he loads up his address book, finds the name he wants, and presses call. Truthfully, he isn't entirely sure what anyone can do, and while he himself had agreed that she deserves to rest, that the body in that bed wasn't her...

It's like the ceremony on the Normandy; he hadn't been able to put her nameplate on the wall. He won't put her nameplate on that wall now, no matter how figurative that wall might be.

Liara's face loads up after the first two rings, her eyes puffy with sleep. She has answered on her Omnitool, judging by the awkward angle, and she shifts with a quiet moan to peer into the camera.

"Garru—"

“They’re turning off her life support,” Garrus gasps, his talons scratching at his desk. “I have to see Shepard. I have to... I have to stop it. Hannah already gave the go-ahead.”

Liara sits up as straight as a board, her eyes darkening with something he can't exactly place—anger, determination? Either way, whatever it is, it's good. It means she's in action mode. It means they have a chance to do something to _help._

“Tell me everything you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t feeling so confident with this chapter. I had a lot of writer’s block and Garrus’ character wasn’t coming to me so well, which I think is because I'm kind of impatient to get to what happens next, but I hope you guys liked this one. Please let me know in the comments if you did!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always, always appreciated. I love receiving feedback.
> 
> P.S. I’m considering adding other POVS later down the line. Do you think that would be too disruptive, or would that be something you guys would like to see? It would relate to the Shep/Garrus content, of course, and would be very relevant. Just curious!
> 
> P.P.S (Sorry) I made an in character twitter for my Shepard, @bigstupidn7, so you should join (and roleplay with me!) if you're interested!


	6. Author's Note

Hello everyone. To those who are returning to read after such a long time away, thank you so much for your patience. To those who are new to this story, I hope you're enjoying it!

I'm just making a brief update to say that I will be continuing to work on this story. I have so many ideas for Garrus after the war and since I've been thinking about he and Shepard lately, I have to write them down. I'm so sorry for the delay in updates--hopefully it won't take so long to post again.

Expect a new chapter very soon. I hope that you will all continue to love this story the way I love it. Thank you for your kind comments and feedback, and if there's anything you're dying to see in the future, please let me know!

P.S. I've removed Chapter 6 as I feel it didn't serve the plot in the way I wished it to. For now, please feel free to read over the story to refresh yourself... I mean... if you want to.

Lots of love,  
Tia xxx


	7. The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Liara hatch a plan to steal Shepard from the hospital; Solana has a demand from Garrus and she won't take no for an answer.

“Garrus Vakarian, you are many things. But you are not a thief.”

Garrus can feel himself tense in irritation. He knows Liara’s not making fun of him, but is the idea that they could break Shepard out of that hospital really that hard to understand? Shepard should be surrounded by people who truly care for her; Miranda should be working to bring Shepard back the way she had done once before. Garrus knows there aren’t billions of creds to spare this time around, but anything Miranda can do is better than anything the doctors and nurses can do in a crumbling hospital in the middle of a decrepit city.

“What do you suggest, Liara?” Garrus demands, his hands splaying as he stays sat at his desk terminal. The holovid image of the asari is grainy; technology still isn't at the state that it used to be. “That we let her die in there? That I--that we… leave her _ again _?”

“We had no choice but to leave Shepard after the Crucible, Garrus,” Liara says softly, “you know that. And have you considered,” Liara continues, her voice becoming softer in that annoyingly comforting way, “that she deserves to rest?”

_ Over and over and over again, _ Garrus thinks, his head lowering in shame. What she deserves most is peace. But as much as Shepard deserves to rest, as much as she deserves for things to be perfectly still, Garrus has come to tell himself that Shepard does _ not _deserve to be used and thrown away in the way that the Alliance had treated her. She deserves a beautiful life, one deserving of the woman who saved the galaxy, and Garrus will do anything to give her that.

“Of course I’ve considered it,” Garrus responds, his voice just as quiet.

After a few seconds’ worth of hesitation, Liara continues, “But you won’t let it happen.”

“No.”

Liara is quiet once more before she softly answers, “I understand.”

Garrus opens his mouth to speak when Liara interrupts, continuing, “But if we _ do _ get Shepard out of there, I want you clear of the scene. I heard about your promotion. We can’t have the turian Fleet Commander involved in something so potentially incriminating_. _You know my agents are perfectly capable at getting a job done.”

His jaw parts in a look which sits between shock and disbelief. Whatever it is, it's a sign of a turian that does _not _want to give into defeat so easily. His head shakes, his involvement in this adamant.

“No," Garrus responds. "No way. I’m not letting people I don’t know handle this. I need to be there with her—“

“My agents will be careful and professional," Liara reassures him. "Think about this, Garrus. I know nobody can stop you when you put your mind to something, but I can guarantee you that the Primarch will _ not _be happy if you get yourself fired three days into getting a new job.”

“Why am I not surprised that you know about that?”

Liara lets out a soft chuckle. “Congratulations.”

With little humour in his tone and only the intention of it, Garrus says, “You don’t think getting fired right after getting my position would be in style for me?”

Liara frowns. “Garrus Vakarian, I am being entirely serious right now.”

Sighing, Garrus mutters, “You and my sister would get along well.”

“You can visit her, Garrus,” Liara says, exasperated. “That would be entirely in character for you. It would be suspicious if Admiral Shepard told you that Shepard’s life support was being turned off and you _ didn’t _appear. But I don’t want you to be the one to get her out of there. You must trust me.”

_ I do trust you, _Garrus thinks. Liara is one of the people who has been by Shepard’s side the longest. What he doubts about this plan, however, is how practical Liara can be; how sensible. Garrus is a turian who acts on feeling, reacts depending on the situation he feels most strongly about---Liara acts according to the wider picture. Garrus would take risks Liara would not.

It all comes back down to black, white and grey.

Garrus asks, “You don’t think Hannah will know I have something to do with this?”

Liara replies, “Oh, she certainly will. But all she’ll have is a hunch, and at most, maybe a target of suspicion on your back. Nothing in this will allude to you, Garrus.”

She’s right, of course. Becoming involved in something which has the potential to spawn news articles reading _ Commander Shepard announced alive: comatose body stolen from hospital _would not bode well for him. But Garrus has never been one to get people to do his dirty work; he much prefers to get his own hands dirty.

This time, however… this time he may have to make an exception. For once, he has to think of the long term.

“This,” Garrus muses. “So we’re doing this? Getting Shepard out of there?”

“We are,” Liara responds. She taps away at her terminal, seemingly searching for something before she continues, “there’s no law against transferring a person to another hospital without a family member's permission. It just so happens that I have the contact of a mobile asari hospital---a medical ship, if you will. All you need to do is be there when she’s transferred to sign her forms. That way, with your signature on record with that hospital, you're the one in charge.”

“Liara,” Garrus breathes, his chest tight. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a genius?”

Liara smiles. “Yes. Mostly those with a shorter lifespan than I. Truthfully, I think I’m at an incredible advantage. It’s not fair for them to make such a judgement at all.”

Garrus lets out a huff of laughter. “Right.”

“Speaking of…” Liara murmurs. Her head tilts as she observes the many screens in front of her. “If you want to do _ something _ to help Shepard’s transfer _ , _I could have a job for you. With your tech knowledge, it’ll be easy. You won’t have to leave Shepard’s side.”

Without hesitation, Garrus responds, “Go on.”

“Let me put together the technicalities before I give you the details,” Liara responds. “I need to assign agents to the case, see who I can contact… but we’ll get her out of there, Garrus. I promise you.”

Garrus breathes, “Thank you, Liara. Thank you.”

“Just promise me one thing, Garrus.”

Garrus hesitates for a moment, not keen to promise something he can’t deliver, before he nods tersely.

“Don’t cut anyone off anymore,” Liara asks of him. “We’re all worried about Shepard, but Tali contacts me almost daily with requests for news about you. You know I won’t give her that information on you without your permission, but you need to speak to her."

Defeated, Garrus’ shoulders slump. “I know.”

“Not to mention Joker…”

Garrus barely resists a wince. Joker is going through the same thing as him right now; EDI still isn’t functional, and Joker’s hope for EDI’s return is looking even more slim than Garrus’ in regards to Shepard. Joker and Garrus combined makes a room so cold that Garrus can hardly breathe, and truthfully, he’s been avoiding talking Joker for that very reason. Dealing with his own pain is hard enough. He’s not sure what he can contribute towards Joker’s.

“What’s holding you back?” Liara asks.

_ Talking about how we feel isn’t going to bring Shepard--or EDI--back any quicker. _

“I don’t know, Liara.”

“Well, maybe you should think on it. Remember, it’s just the crew, not Harbinger. You can talk to your friends.”

Garrus looks back up at the terminal, annoyed. “Any more life advice, o’ old one?”

Liara frowns. “No. Goodbye, Garrus. I’ll be in contact soon.”

“Bye, Liara.”

The holovid shuts off and the room feels just as empty as before. He shouldn’t have spoken to Liara so coldly, not when she’s just trying to help, but he doesn’t need her pressing… and oh, she knows how to pry in areas where she doesn’t belong. It’s probably what makes her such a good information broker. He’s tired of people trying to help him---he’d take Jack’s aggressive emails over the concerned string of messages from Tali any day.

He knows that sounds bad. He hates himself for it too.

The turian rolls his shoulders, the same way he’s seen Shepard do countless times under the weight of that heavy armour she donned as a vanguard, and stretches. He glances out of the window beside his desk; the sun has gone down since he and Liara first started talking, though he’s not even sure how long they spoke for. All he can focus on is that they’re going to get Shepard out of there. He hopes Liara thinks of a plan fast.

_ You’re going to be alive at the end of this, Shepard, _ Garrus thinks. _You have to._

With a sigh, Garrus stands from his desk and closes the open window. Only once it’s closed does he grab the robe at the end of his bed and wrap it around him---he’s not sure if it’s the dread lingering under his skin or if the temperature has simply dropped, but suddenly, Palaven doesn’t feel so hot.

It’s cold; right now the room feels just as chilly as London. He wishes he were back there, rain and storms be damned—he wishes to be back by Shepard’s side, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breath as she slumbers gently in her hospital bed. 

He’ll always be watching her six.

For now, however, he has to distract himself. With the intention of going downstairs to make some food, he presses his long talons to the pad on the door to order it open. With a hiss the doors part, allowing him access to the upstairs hallway, but he finds himself face to face with a very angry, frowning Solana.

“You’re leaving?”

Garrus tenses. How much of that had she heard? “Solana—”

“Don’t Solana me,” Sol interrupts, annoyed. But then her expression shifts, her mandibles twitching, and disappointment settles on her features as her shoulders slump. “You just got here.”

“I know,” he responds, his fingers clenching and unclenching nervously. He’s never liked arguing with his sister. “But Shepard, they’re… they’re turning off her life support, Sol.”

Solana’s eyes widen. “No. They can’t. You’re—Spirits, Garrus, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Garrus quips back adamantly, a shake of his head following. “It’s not happening.”

He thought he’d sound confident in saying it, but the loudest part of his subvocals is the way they ring quiet---like a silencer on a gun.

There’s a brief pause before Solana says, “You’re going there to stop them.”

Garrus nods. He can’t look his sister in the eye. “Yeah.”

“I’m coming with you.”

_Now _he looks at her. Garrus takes a step back and shakes his head, bewildered. “No, Sol, you can’t—”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Garrus,” Solana retorts. “I’m your_ older _ sister. I want to accompany you. I hate the idea of you alone, and… and I want to meet the woman who managed to get my stubborn asshole of a brother to fall for her.”

Garrus swallows thickly. “She doesn’t look the same, Sol, she—”

“I. Don’t. Care,” Solana says through gritted teeth, taking an adamant step towards him. “I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

His shoulders slumping, Garrus lowers his gaze. _ Is there any getting out of this on my own? _

_ Likely not. _

Solana’s smart. Even if Garrus stole away in the middle of the night, she knows where Shepard is being kept. She’ll know how to make her way to Earth and she can take care of herself, too. These days, Solana barely mentions the pain in her leg even though Garrus is sure it affects her more than she lets on. The Vakarians are a stubborn family, and anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know them well enough at all.

But truthfully? It’s… better for him than he’ll admit to be around his family again. He’d been avoiding being around them for too long after the death of his mother, but although it still stings to see her place at the dinner table empty, that doesn’t take away from the fact that he still loves his remaining family members dearly. Having Solana by his side…

It wouldn’t be the worst. It could even work.

It could also go terribly.

_ Damn it. _

Defeated, Garrus retreats further into his bedroom. He perches on the end of his bed as he stares up at Solana, the picture of their mother and somehow even more stubborn. Solana crosses the room to follow him, pride emulating from her straightened shoulders.

“What about Dad?” Garrus frowns. "He’s been acting strange since Octacia’s party.”

Solana rolls her eyes as she perches beside him. “Garrus, he’s always weird one way or another. I get why you’re worried, but what do you expect him to do? Come to his senses and learn to open up for the first time in his life? He’s not going to suddenly cry on your shoulder about anything. He’s just going to try to ignore it and go on. You know how he is.”

Silence. Garrus lowers his head as he tries to think of something to combat her argument, but she’s right. He might not want to leave their father alone, but damn, Castis makes it hard to stick around. Castis Vakarian taught his children to keep their pain to themselves whether he meant to or not, but still, the two of them can at least admit that they’re still struggling in the wake of their mother’s death. In comparison, Castis tries to keep himself distracted, delaying the day he’ll have to truly deal with the pain for as long as he can.

Garrus worries about his father more than he’ll admit.

“We can video call him every day,” Solana says.

“Mm,” Garrus murmurs. 

Solana continues, “I’ll write down what we should ask him---what we should be concerned about. I’ll cover it every time we talk.”

The turian lets out a huff of laughter. “Solana, that’s just ridiculous.”

Solana nudges him in the side. “I’m telling you, Garrus, he’ll be fine. The worst that’ll happen is that we’ll come back to him engaged to Octacia, and I don’t think he’s crazy enough to do that.”

“Yet,” Garrus responds.

Softly, Solana chuckles. “Yet.”

_I can't keep leaving,_ he tells himself._ I can't keep running._ Solana always takes it to heart when her brother leaves; Garrus doesn't want to hurt his sister with his disappearance again, leaving her wondering when he'll next return. He doesn't want to be an absent family member anymore, not without a good reason.

Rogue missions don't seem like good reasons, no matter the importance; legitimate work is an okay reason; a home on another planet is a _good_ reason. Disappearing into the night isn't good at all, as much as returning to Shepard is the right thing to do. He wants to do this right.

After a moment’s hesitation, Garrus responds, “Alright. Fine. Come with me. But if I say I need space… if I need to do something on my own, Sol, you’ve gotta let me.”

Solana hesitates.

“_ Sol _,” Garrus demands.

Solana raises her talons in surrender, a guttural noise of dissatisfaction slipping from her mouth. “Fine! Fine. Just don’t do anything that’ll get you hurt, alright?”

Garrus’ mandibles twitch in amusement. “Just how dangerous do you think Earth hospitals are?”

Solana shoots him a glare. “You know what I mean.”

Solana stands, leaving Garrus perched at the end of his bed, and then turns to face him with a sigh.

“I’m guessing I should go pack my winter clothes.”

“Mm. And your cloaks.”

Solana’s mandibles fall slack. “And my cloaks? It’s not even _ winter _there!”

One of Garrus’ mandibles, in comparison, parts in amusement. “Having second thoughts?”

Solana’s mandibles clench to her face in a grimace which Garrus knows means _ no _. 

“Ugh,” Solana mumbles. “Disgusting.”

She turns, making to leave Garrus’ quarters before Garrus speaks once more.

“And Sol?” He calls. “One last thing.”

Solana turns. She raises a brow plate as her eyes settle on him, a movement that says simply, _ go on. _

There is a look of amusement on Garrus’ face as he utters, “No bugging my friends.”

Outrage, annoyance, sisterly disgust… these three expressions cross Solana’s features in no more than a few seconds, and Garrus can’t help the look of entertainment on his face.

“I still hardly believe you have any,” Solana retorts.

Garrus doesn’t bother to retort as Solana leaves the room for good. The entertainment he feels is enough for him, and for the first time, he feels a slither of hope. This time, he doesn’t have to be optimistic. This time…

This time, the weight in his chest is a little lighter.

Maybe keeping Solana around for this is a good idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, if you did, leave a comment! Reading your comments really make my day. Kudos would be appreciated too, but only if you want to!
> 
> I hope my Liara was in character; I don't have the best grasp on her characterisation, but I tried my best to get that blue baby down. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Your attention to this story really means a lot to me.
> 
> Until next time,  
Tia xoxo


	8. Vakarian, Defeated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vakarians discuss Garrus' upcoming venture to Earth. One of them is especially displeased.

“You have to tell him, Garrus.”

Solana eyes him with a look that can only be described as disapproving, perhaps a touch wary. For the past few days, Solana has been pressing Garrus to tell their father of their soon-to-be absence, but Garrus keeps putting it off. He’s never been afraid of disappointing his father before---he and Castis have very different morals and values, but perhaps it’s the lack of a war this time that makes him feel different.

“I know, Sol,” Garrus responds.

For now, he’d much rather focus on the eggs sizzling in the pan that his talons are wrapped around. It’s early---too early to be talking about difficult conversations with their father. Castis will either shrug it off or make a big fuss. There’s no in-between. 

“We’re leaving tomorrow, Garrus. Come on.”

_Tomorrow, _Garrus thinks, letting out a breath of relief. It hardly seems real. If Garrus had his own way, he’d have been there with Shepard the same day Hannah had called. Liara, however, had managed to put a word in with her ever-mysterious contacts, and Shepard’s life support being switched off had been delayed for a few more days---not that it will end up turned off in the first place. Truthfully, the extra time granted to them had been beneficial. While he waits, Garrus has kept himself busy without really trying to. 

He’s gotten familiar with the Captains of his fleets, given new orders, kept Victus informed on any updates, and even acquired for himself a mobile workspace so that he can do work securely on the go. A desk in an office simply isn’t appropriate for him right now, and while he  _ should  _ ideally be in a secure place to do his work, that’s simply not a possibility right now, n ot to mention that the city--and typical offices--are in ruins. 

Shepard comes first, and Garrus will not be giving up on her the same way Hannah Shepard has.

Noting his silence, Solana continues, “Dad’s not going to—”

“Dad’s not going to what?” Castis Vakarian’s voice rings out from the stairway.

Garrus doesn’t bother to resist the groan that sounds from his throat, his upper body slumping in annoyance. Of course he’d interrupt. It’s just Garrus’ luck. Garrus loves Solana very much, but she rarely knows how to keep her mouth shut… and now, there’s no getting out of this one.

“Hey, Dad,” Garrus murmurs, turning around to face his father. He leans against the counter beside the stove as Castis approaches the kitchen. “Morning.”

Castis comes to a stop before his children and merely raises a brow plate, clearly unimpressed. He knows his son is stalling.

Lowering his gaze in an attempt to seem nonchalant, Garrus says, “I have… some things I need to do on Earth. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Castis is quiet for a while as he looks over his son warily. “The Commander?”

Garrrus nods. “Yeah.”

Castis is quiet again before he says, sighing in irritation, “This is just as I expected.”

Solana, sitting at the kitchen counter, opens her mouth to object. “Dad!”

“It’s the truth, Solana,” Castis says, his annoyance somewhat comical considering that he’s still in his sleeping attire—a long robe, his fringe still a little wonky… “She’s not even conscious and yet she has my son running around after her like a new recruit tries to impress his superior officer. I am tired of this, Garrus. At this point, you may as well be a Spectre yourself.”

Garrus can feel his fists clench, anger bubbling under his skin. He’s not sure what frustrates him the most---the fact that his father is  _ upset  _ that Garrus must to go to attend to the affairs of his girlfriend who very much needs him, or the fact that he’s bringing her Spectre status into his arguments once more? In truth, it’s the way he speaks about Shepard in general, as if she’s some druid who has spelled him into her servitude. He makes her sound evil. Wrong. Corrupt. Castis Vakarian doesn’t know the half of who Shepard is, and it’s never been more evident.

“It always comes down to Spectres, doesn’t it?” Garrus bites back menacingly. He can’t help his tone: his father has pushed him too far. “I thought we were past this. You said it yourself---Shepard saved us all.”

“Yes,” Castis growls, “but she is still one woman. How long until you fall too deep into her mess without a care for your own safety, your own career, and she cannot save you at the end of it?”

Garrus can’t help it---his eyes widen, his shoulders square, and he takes on the stance of a turian who is very much ready to fight. For a few seconds he simply stares at his father, his mandibles flickering in naught but pure rage. He sees blue. In truth, he’s trying to control himself so that he can actually speak, because right now there is too much carnal emotion running through his mind to put his tongue to work.

“You’re acting as if I’m some lovesick fool who can’t survive a minute on my own,” Garrus says, his voice low and his subvocals threatening.

Coolly, without a care in the world for the danger in his son’s subvocals, Castis Vakarian responds, “Your actions haven’t proven otherwise.”

Bitterly, Garrus laughs, and the words start tumbling from his mouth before he can stop them. “I’m the one we’re going to talk about? Solana and I are at least able to admit that Mom’s death hurt us. You? You spend your time distracting yourself with scoundrels like Octacia Sylvatus and Generals that are falling apart at the seams and you— _ you _ …

You can’t even take a  _ minute  _ to stop and deal with your feelings. Your  _ wife  _ died, Dad, in case you haven’t noticed. Our Mom is  _ gone.  _ My girlfriend is lying in a hospital bed and I don’t know if she’ll ever wake up again, never mind what she did to save the entire galaxy, some of whom don’t even  _ deserve  _ her sacrifice!”

“That’s enough!” Solana interrupts.

Garrus turns to face his sister with a growl of annoyance, although it’s not entirely directed at her. The anger he feels in this moment cannot be tamed. His fists are clenched and he can hear his own heartbeat loud and clear. The last time he felt this mad was on Omega when he was dealing with criminals and scoundrels. He should not be feeling this way towards his father, and yet Castis has pushed him this far.

“Are you quite finished?” Castis demands, his attention focused solely on Garrus.

“That’s enough, both of you,” Solana says, pushing away from the seat she perches on so that she now stands. “You’re both hurt. You’re both mourning in one way or another. But that does  _ not  _ give you the excuse to tear at one another like varren!”

_ Breathe.  _ It’s no good being this resentful. Garrus wills his shoulders to relax, for his breathing to slow… 

“We are  _ family, _ ” Solana reminds the two. Garrus and Castis’ gazes still remain glued to one another like cats in a staring match. “We didn’t fall apart during the war and even then we were systems apart. We aren’t going to fall apart now. Garrus is hurting, Dad, and so are you, even if you won’t admit it. We’re all doing our best.”

Softly, Castis shakes his head, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. 

“I have work to do,” he says simply, and that’s all the Vakarian siblings hear from him before he disappears into his study for good.

Garrus slams his hand down on the kitchen counter, all that anger bubbling up to the surface again as soon as the door closes behind Castis. However he thought that conversation could have gone, he wasn’t expecting it to go so badly---or to get so worked up about it himself. He closes his eyes, wishing for the first time not to be back with Shepard but for things to just be  _ simple. _

“Garrus,” Solana says, “you’re bleeding.”

The turian’s eyes open. Garrus glances down at himself to find that the hand he had slammed down on the counter is glistening with blue, and when he unclenches his talons, he sees small puncture wounds in his palm. When was the last time he cut his talons? He hasn’t been around humans so there’s been no need to trim them. Usually, with Shepard around, he files them down; that way, the only worry left in the back of his mind as he pulls Shepard’s bare body flush against his own is the way the sheets will undoubtedly tangle as they writhe and moan in the presence of their love.

Garrus grumbles, more annoyed than upset, and wipes at the blood droplets on the counter with a nearby dishcloth. He’s only vaguely aware of the stinging sensation in his other hand.

“What would Mom think of us, hm?” Solana asks softly, quietly.

She moves behind her bomb of a brother to turn off the stove; in his anger, Garrus forgot about the eggs. He’s not really sure if he wants them anymore, not with the taste of anger still lingering in his mouth. Garrus isn’t really one for naps, but right now, he could do with a long one.

“I dread to think,” Garrus mutters.

From the cabinet, Solana pulls out the first aid kit. In no time, her talons are working to gently wrap the Medi-gel bandage around Garrus’ own hand.

“I know she’d be proud of you,” Solana tells him, “that’s for sure.”

Garrus lets out a small huff of breath that was meant to be a laugh, but it lacks the humour completely. “Thanks, Sol, but I don’t need a pep talk right now.”

“I know,” Solana responds surprisingly calmly, “but I’m giving you one anyway.”

Garrus’ mandibles twitch. Solana inspires in him that feeling of a light chest once more; when she’s like this, soft and caring, she reminds Garrus of his mother. Vivian Vakarian had been the first to answer Garrus’ cries as a child and she’d been the first to care for his wounds after. Even in her darkest moments, even when she could hardly recognise his face, she was strong. She was always kind. Solana has a lot of their mother in her.

“You still have to tell Dad you’re coming with me,” Garrus says quietly, only once her hands part from his own.

“I know,” Solana shrugs, “but it’s fine. He can’t rile me up the same way he does with you.”

“Yeah,” Garrus huffs, “I’ve noticed.”

“I wish I could say he’s just hurting, but…” Solana shrugs, pushing away from the counter, “there’s more truth in the fact that the eggs are done. You still want them?”

“Mm. Not sure.”

“Oops, sorry. Shouldn’t have asked because you’re having them anyway. Here,” she says, scooping them out of the pan and onto the square, metallic plate already prepared, “I’m not letting you starve.”

“Solana—”

“Eat your eggs, Garrus, because I know you haven’t been eating and I’m tired of lying awake worrying about you at night.”

Garrus’ mouth shuts.  _ Has she really been missing sleep because of me?  _ His teeth clench at the thought.

It’s shame that forces himself to lap up the eggs, and truthfully, it’s not hard to---they taste great. The thought that he’s only just got this quality of food back and that he’ll be giving it up once again is one that forces him to savour every last bite, because the last few meals he has at home… well, they’re going to be far better than nutrient paste, that’s for sure.

Once he’s done, Garrus asks, “You ready for nutrient paste for the next… Spirits-however-long?”

Solana grimaces. “Don’t talk to me about that.”

“I’m just saying. Last time I found a flavour I liked, they stopped making it a few weeks after—”

“If you’re trying to stop me from coming with you, Garrus, it’s not working,” Solana says as she shoots him a playful glare.

Garrus’ mandibles twitch in wry amusement, almost as if he's displeased that she's making him smile.

Later, when he’s clearing up the dishes, he makes a mental note to call the other member of dextro-squad, the name that Shepard had given to the other member of the crew that she had taken on missions the most: Tali. This time, Liara won’t have to pressure him to do it. He misses his friends…

And he misses Tali the most.

Slowly, despite what Castis Vakarian says, Garrus Vakarian is feeling a little more like himself with each day that passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! As usual, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> I actually didn't expect to write this one, but the idea came to me suddenly so I didn't feel right skipping right to the journey to Earth. You can expect that the next chapter, though, and I guarantee that one's going to be entertaining.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Comment, kudos... any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Until next time!


	9. Shepard On Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Solana journey to Earth in the company of the Alliance's best pilot. He has a few words for Garrus.

When the day finally comes for Garrus and Solana to leave Palaven, Garrus is glad to be leaving.

Palaven has never been home. Garrus didn’t really know the feeling of home--what the comfort that entails having one really felt like--until he met Shepard. Now, with Shepard in limbo, Garrus doesn’t really feel like he fits in anywhere. There’s a feeling in his chest that he can’t entirely place as he watches his steely birthplace get smaller and smaller behind him; Garrus has the sneaking suspicion that it is uncertainty, thriving off the nervousness he feels in regards to this upcoming plan.

As Palaven fades off into the distance, Garrus moves his attention to the space station ahead of them. It’s new. It’s more a transport station than anything, like border control for an entire planet---all smaller ships and shuttle transport must clear through the station before being allowed to dock on Palaven. Garrus understands it. In the wake of the war, there are some who would prefer to do more harm than good, and there are some who might do harm without even intending to.

It’s a shame Octacia Sylvatus was on Palaven when the war ended. Garrus isn’t sure she’d be allowed to come back if she wasn’t.

“It looks better than when Dad and I came back to Palaven,” Solana speaks, her gaze glued to the view from the shuttle’s window, “last time there was so much debris I could barely see Cipritine.”

Garrus spares a glance to the debris still floating about in space, the remnants of battles mostly lost. “I never really paid attention to it,” he comments. He’s seen so much destruction lately that it almost seems like the new norm.

Solana lets out a low hum, a sound simply intended to acknowledge what he said, and they don’t speak again until they’re boarded, waiting at SHUTTLE BAY CL4.

“Is there anything I should know?” Solana blurts out. Garrus’ mandibles clench in confusion, the equivalent of a human frown, as he gazes upon his sister. “I mean about humans---is there anything I shouldn’t do?”

Garrus takes a moment to respond. “Didn’t you work with a few humans at Kuwashii?”

Solana’s head tilts. “Yes, but I wasn’t exactly best friends with them. They’re squishy. It’s unsettling how their insides are kept inside by so… little padding. I’m civil and friendly, but I keep my distance.”

At that, Garrus lets out a huff of amusement. “I thought the same at first. Maybe not to the same extent, but… I see where you’re coming from on the squishy part.”

“But that was before you got close to the Commander,” Solana teases.

Garrus glances around, alarmed. If anyone heard his sister speaking in such a way… well, it’d be mighty inappropriate for anyone to _ overhear _their conversation, that’s for sure. He forces himself to quickly glance away when he makes eye contact with an elder turian woman frowning in their direction; the only oblivious party is the squawking baby in her arms, demanding the attention its mother--grandmother?--is giving the Vakarians.

“Sol,” he chokes, “please stop.”

Solana’s mandibles flutter in amusement once more, and after, she averts her gaze from her brother and moves to focus her gaze on the shuttles zooming past. The only sound around them comes from the hums of their engines, the chatter of the people around them, and the voice ringing out from the station’s speakers. Garrus is fighting off the amused flickering of his mandibles from Solana’s remark when he spots something in the distance that makes his--turian--smile fade.

_ Is that…? _

_ No, it can’t be. _

But it looks suspiciously like…

_ No, no, no. _

Dread finds a home in the pit of his stomach as Garrus watches the shuttle his eyes are trained on come to a stop before them. All he can do is focus on the gentle hum of the engine, hoping desperately for it to keep moving. _ Please don’t stop please don’t stop, Spirits, please don’t let him stop— _

Joker’s shuttle stops in SHUTTLE BAY CL4, and Garrus knows then that the Spirits have _ not _answered his prayers. The shuttle doors open to reveal the human’s grinning face.

“Someone call for a pilot?” Joker greets them.

Garrus slowly sighs. _ Damn you, Liara _ . He’s already tired; he’s tired of people playing games with him. Admiral Shepard, Octacia Sylvatus, now Liara… who absolutely did this on purpose. _ Why can’t people just respect his boundaries? _

Solana eyes Garrus. “Yeah, actually, but we weren’t expecting a—”

“Joker,” Garrus greets the other sternly.

Solana frowns at him as she asks, “A what?”

Joker’s expression of amusement fades, his attention solely focused on— “Garrus. Hey.”

This is already not good.

“Oh,” Solana says. Slowly, she comes to understand what’s happening, and then… “Oh! A friend?”

Garrus nods tersely. 

Solana can sense something is up by the action alone: Garrus can tell by the way some of her excitement fades just a tad. The good thing about Joker being a human, however, is that he probably can’t pick up on it. Shepard would’ve been able to see how uncomfortable he is---she’s good at picking up on turian body language, always picks up on the shifts in Garrus’ demeanour, but Joker…

Joker is a friend, that much is true. But how friendly he and Garrus are at the moment… well, it’s not looking too hot, if the passive aggressive--often _ actually _aggressive, too--emails Joker has been sending him are any clue.

_ Why can’t people let me mind my own damn business? _

“What, Garrus, not even a snide remark? Damn,” Joker huffs with laughter, “that stick up your ass really went right back up the second we got back to Earth, huh?”

“Mm. I felt like making a change,” Garrus quips sarcastically, “but it’s a shame you couldn’t do anything about those brittle bones. I hear the turian military’s running out of new ways to turn you into a crappy joke.”

“Ooooh, that was a low burn,” Joker hisses mockingly. After, he rolls his eyes and shifts his hold on the steering wheel. “Come on. Are you gonna stand there all day or what? I’m your ride to Earth---well, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Garrus asks.

“Jeez, Garrus, stop acting as if I’m with Cerberus and get in the damn shuttle already.”

Solana eyes her brother with a look of irritation, as if to say _ really? _ before she throws the bag she packed in the back of the car. Garrus doesn’t hesitate to follow after that; the last thing he needs is his sister giving him the cold shoulder. It’s quiet after that even as Garrus thinks of something to say, and only once 

“Where are we going, Joker?” Garrus asks, only after an uncomfortable amount of silence. “We can’t be making the full journey to Earth in a shuttle.”

“Secret hideout.”

“Secret… hideout?” Garrus’ mandibles twitch in uncertainty.

“Didn’t you hear him, Garrus?” Solana grins, leaning towards him teasingly. “Secret hideout.”

Garrus sighs, closes his eyes, and slumps into his seat. _ Maybe if I just ignore them they’ll go away… _

“You know, Garrus, you should take a leaf from your sister’s book,” Joker tells him.

“I don’t have a book of leaves,” Solana frowns.

“Human saying,” Joker tells Solana, beginning to explain it to her in detail.

Garrus tunes out of the conversation quickly after that. Already, they’re proving to be fast friends, something which Garrus does not at all need right now. _ Especially _now.

No matter how okay it might seem with Joker at the moment, Garrus knows there’s only so long this can go on for. Joker’s rage is undeniable. It’s not that Garrus can sense his anger now---it’s that Garrus has witnessed Joker’s anger in the past, the kind that stays hidden behind wry jokes and grins until it _ isn’t _ any more. Garrus knows damn well how Joker feels about him, even through all the jokes. _ You’re not the only one going through shit, Garrus, _ the emails read. _ Don’t be so selfish. You left. You left us all. _

EDI still isn’t functioning. The Normandy had felt empty on the return to Earth, like the shell of what once was. Joker is going through the same thing as Garrus, the turian knows.

_ Please come back, _the last email read.

He just can’t bring himself to be there for somebody when he’s barely there for himself. Joker’s hurting too, yes, but that doesn’t mean Garrus needs to be there to hold his hand.

_ You’re not the only one going through shit, Joker. _

As it turns out, the ‘secret hideout’ Joker had mentioned is a small ship, the vessel which will actually take them to Earth. It’s big enough for the shuttle to fit inside the ship but small enough for Garrus to know that it’s a simple cargo vessel, nothing more. It tells him that Liara isn’t expecting trouble. Still, the lack of big guns doesn’t make that feeling of dread in Garrus’ stomach go away. He’s so used to spending his time in FTL calibrating that not having something to meddle with stresses him out more than it should. It just reminds him of how much has changed, and Garrus doesn’t like it one bit.

He’s used to moving, always doing something. It’s why he had to do something the first time they lost Shepard, and it’s also a big part of the reason why he accepted the job from Victus. If Victus hadn’t offered him that job, Archangel certainly would’ve made an appearance around Cipritine---where necessary, of course.

So he spends his time as they travel to Earth ensuring that no stone is left unturned when it comes to the fleets. His ships are mostly dealing with civilians, clean-ups, petty slavers and pirates that try to make the most of the devastation around them, but Victus isn’t afraid to ask for Garrus’ opinion when it concerns matters of the fleet elsewhere, too. Garrus also mods his rifle as they travel to the Sol system; he takes it apart and puts it all together again more times than he’d admit. Truthfully, as long as it pulls his attention from the dread, he doesn’t care what Solana and Joker might think.

Things are tense between he and Joker, so much so that Garrus stays out of his way if he can. Solana and the human seem to be hitting it off, anyway, although Garrus can’t tell if Solana merely feels obliged to entertain him or if she’s really enjoying his company. Either way, as they arrive on Earth, Joker’s obnoxious laugh still rings out from the pilot’s seat and Solana’s subvocals thrum with amusement.

Garrus had been expecting a comment from Solana about how _ gloomy _the London sky looks, particularly so as they pull up to the docking station, but she says nothing. When it’s time to part with Joker, she exchanges a nod with him, tells him thank you for the journey, and sets off on her own. Garrus is about to ask her where she’s going when he realises what she’s doing: she’s giving them the private time she likely sensed the two needed.

Garrus doesn’t want it.

After a moment’s hesitation, Joker says, “I sent you emails. You know, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” Garrus responds nonchalantly, “I just didn’t really feel like answering.”

Joker lets a bitter huff of laughter slip from his lips and Garrus already knows this is going downhill. “No shit,” the human scoffs. “All you think about is yourself, right?”

Garrus isn’t in the mood to argue. _ Why couldn’t Liara just stay out of it? _

“Thanks for the ride, Joker,” he responds instead.

Garrus watches Joker’s face fall and then rises again with something new: anger. “Thanks for the—thanks for the ride? Seriously? You ignore everyone’s emails, you ask Liara to do you a favour as if she hasn’t got her own shit going on, and then you say _ thanks for the ride— _”

Garrus resists the urge to close his eyes in exasperation.

“You know, you keep up this whole _ caring for the people _act, asking Shepard to track down Dr. Saleon and then again with that Sidonis guy on the Citadel, but really you only care about yourself.”

He contemplates just walking away, but would Joker follow? At least here the other docking bays beside them are somewhat empty; Joker’s voice won’t be heard by anyone at this range—

“Because the truth is you only care about other people when you don’t have to put in any _ effort _ ,” Joker continues. “Pulling a trigger is easy, right? It’s just a finger. You get to come off as the hero but at the end of the day all you do is _ hurt _people.”

The turian turns his gaze to Solana, waiting patiently in the docking lounge nearby. She gives him a questioning look and Garrus turns away.

“And everyone puts up with it because they’re all _ oh, _ poor Garrus, _ oh, _ he’s such a victim, _ oh _ he’s so sensitive let’s all just pile onto Garrus and ignore all the shitty things he does because he’s so _ different _ and Shepard loves him so it’s _ okay, _let’s all just give Garrus our fucking creds while we’re at it—”

The mention of Shepard catches him off guard.

“You’re so selfish that you can’t even let Shepard go. We all know the thing that bothered her most last time was the time she lost, and now—now you want to go and extend a life she’s not even living? You’re standing here about to do the last thing she would _ ever _want—”

_ Is he right? _

Suddenly, Garrus feels sick.

“Let me know when EDI’s online,” Garrus says, a forced set of words from a turian mouth that doesn’t want to open to form them_ , _and then he turns on his heel and leaves Joker seething behind him.

Was Garrus the one that was wrong all along?

Did Hannah make the right decision?

He doesn’t know how far he’s waked when he reaches Solana; in fact, he barely registers that he’s reached her at all, but the concern that lies heavy in her subvocals and on her face draws Garrus away from his thoughts.

“What was that about?” Solana asks. Her voice is a welcome one; it puts a stop to the thoughts swimming around his head, consumes him so much that his vocal chords feel tight… 

Garrus doesn’t answer—he doesn’t have the words. There’s a quiet, choked sound coming from his subvocals that he can’t stop from slipping out. There are no turians around, not at this docking station in the middle of nowhere on a gloomy London day, and he’s grateful for it.

Solana doesn’t question him any further.

“Come on,” Solana says, her hand brushing comfortingly against her brothers, “we have a commander to get to.”

He wants to run away. He wants to leave, to find some place where he can take out his frustrations on some no-good thugs that don’t deserve Shepard's sacrifice.

“Garrus,” Solana says, pulling him back to reality once more, “it’s okay.”

Everything had started feeling better over the last few days—not perfect, but more stable. Now everything feels worse than before, like a tsunami after an earthquake, and Garrus doesn’t know quite where to go from here.

Garrus nods. “Can you bring up the details?”

He’s not really sure he can focus on anything right now.

Solana nods, brings up the nav point on her Omnitool, and soon enough they’re walking in the direction of the hospital under the gloomy London sky.

He hopes the feeling of drowning will stop once he sees Shepard, but he’s terrified that it’ll only make him feel worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading. This one was a bummer to write as I had to try to get Joker's voice down as well as Solana's excitement and also capture Garrus' feelings after the rant. Overall, though, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Much love,  
Tia xoxo


	10. Wait For It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus and Solana visit Shepard in hospital. Garrus enlists Castis' help in making a crucial decision.

"She looks..."

"Different from the vids,” Garrus finishes, his throat tight, “yeah, I know.”

They stand in the middle of the hospital room that Garrus has memorised by now, and once more, the beeping of monitors and the gentle whoosh of vehicles outside accompany his space. His focus glazes over anything that seems familiar first: the way the sunlight filters through the blinds and leaves lines of shade on the wall, the positioning of the monitors by his lover’s bed, the way Shepard's chest rises and falls in that same sort of mechanical way that indicates that it's not really her…

Then, he focuses on everything that seems different: Shepard's hair is longer, she's thinner, and the tube that had reminded him so much of a reaper is gone, replaced with a small tube in her nose. He supposes he should be grateful that he no longer has to see that comparison anymore, but considering the amount of tubes still leading to and from her small, fragile body, Garrus can't really find it in him to be grateful for anything.

"Do you need some time alone?" Solana asks him.

"No," Garrus answers truthfully, and Solana slowly nods.

His sister respectfully moves from his side and moves over to the chair and table by the window. She begins looking for something in the bag she brought with her, setting it down on the table as she begins unloading a few loose things onto the plush seat beside it. Garrus had sat in that uncomfortable, human-intended seat for hours on end, only he’d moved it beside Shepard’s bed.

"Do you have a plan?" Solana asks.

He knows what she's talking about. Coming here, Garrus had told Solana of their plan to move Shepard to a hospital where  _ he _ could make the decisions, but he hadn't told her all the details. Solana had understood. Turians understand that keeping details from others is sometimes crucial; telling those who don’t need to know risks the chances of the mission going well. Humans tend to take it personally, if Kaidan Alenko is an example for the human race.

"Yeah," Garrus responds, his attention averting to the monitors by Shepard's bedside, "I do."

"Good," Solana responds seriously, "then I'm with you."

Garrus spares her a glance, a gratuitous noise ringing out from his subvocals, and then he makes his way over to Shepard's bedside. 

She’s thinner. Smaller. Garrus didn’t know humans could lose muscle mass so fast. Can he see the cybernetics under her skin or is that him imagining things? He wants to reach out and take her hand in his, feel the comfort of her soft skin against his once more, but he’s afraid now more than ever that if he touches her, she might fall apart. He’d always thought humans were too soft, had wondered how so little shielding kept their organs inside of them, but now… 

Garrus stares at Shepard for a few long seconds, her vitals on full show--as they always are--on his visor. And then he can’t take it anymore.

The woman in that hospital bed looks like a shell of herself. When all this is over, Garrus doesn’t want the Shepard in the room with him now to be the most potent memory of her that he has.

He switches his attention to the monitors beside her. The last time Garrus was here, he'd calibrated these machines enough that Vega had joked they'd be as powerful as the Normandy's cannons if they had guns. Garrus isn't entirely sure he was wrong. Looking at the state of them now, however, it looks like even more calibrations are in order. An increase in performance of 2% might not seem like a lot to most people, but when his girlfriend’s life is on the line, Garrus will do anything.

Even still, as he works, he can’t force what Joker said from his mind.

_ Is it selfish to keep hoping? _

_ Is Shepard better off passing on? _

_ Spirits, I don’t know. _

“Do you mind if I read to her?” Solana asks.

Garrus stops what he’s doing to look at his sister. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Reading… it seems like such a mundane thing to do amidst all the worries that are swarming around in his head. But he’d seen the books in Shepard’s room, the old paper ones on her desk, and while he’d never seen her reading them, he thinks she’d like the idea of being read to. Maybe she can even hear them… 

“I think she’d like that,” Garrus responds.

For a while, Garrus take a break to watch and listen. Solana picks a trashy turian romance novel, the type that she hates to admit she loves but the kind of book Garrus would find her up late reading as a child. It’s about two soldiers who find love while fighting together in a war, but by the time the plot starts to thicken, it’s too close to home for Garrus to pay attention to it any longer. Perhaps Solana senses this, because as soon as Garrus shifts uncomfortably, she glances over to him.

“I used to read to mom like this,” Sol tells him. “It actually helped her a little. I’d bring my datapad and read her all the stories she used to read us as kids. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give her something familiar, right? She loved one of yours particularly---what was your favourite again?”

Garrus’ mandibles flicker into a smile as he says, “Draco the Dutiful.”

Solana’s own mandibles splay in a silent laugh. “Draco the Dutiful… that was all about him being a great representative for the turian race, huh? And look at you now.”

Garrus’ brow plates rise. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or not.”

“Oh, come on. You said it first.”

Garrus shakes his head, amusement written on his features. When Solana continues to read to Shepard, Garrus tunes out and simply returns to his calibrations instead.

He’s well aware that he has more to do on these monitors than simply calibrate. Liara had said as soon as the data she provided him with is implemented into the hospital systems, she’ll know it’s go time. All he has to do is input the code… 

So why is he stalling?

By the time he’s done calibrating, the light outside is beginning to fade to darkness. He only notices because of the chirp Solana makes in the seat beside Shepard, the involuntary turian equivalent of a yawn. Garrus looks up from his calibrations to find his sister’s eyes heavy and her mandibles slack, a telltale sign of turian tiredness.

“You don’t have to stay here with me, Sol,” Garrus says, straightening, “I can walk you to the hotel if you want.”

Solana rolls her shoulders as she sits up. She shakes her head. “It’s okay; I can make my way there myself. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Garrus’ gaze shifts to Shepard. “I don’t sleep a lot while I’m here.”

Slowly, Solana’s head rises in understanding. She looks like she’s about to say something, or at the very least she’s trying to think of how to word what she wants to say, before she nods. Instead, a comforting hand is placed on Garrus’ arm.

“Alright. I’ll be a call away if you need me.”

Turians don’t need as much sleep as humans. Garrus isn’t so sure she’d have let such a statement slide if they were humans themselves; Solana is nothing if not persistent.

Still, he won’t fight it. Solana gathers her things and makes to leave, but before she can, Garrus steps to the side and pulls her in for a sudden hug.

Solana tenses. It’s not often they do this, especially not outside of the comfort of their own home. Maybe Solana realises that this is the human world, however, and that they’re far more comfortable with displays of affection, or maybe it’s just that their only conscious company is themselves, but in no time, Solana’s arms are wrapped right around Garrus in return.

“Call me when you get there,” Garrus tells her, more an order than a request.

Solana lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re acting like the streets of London are no better than Omega.”

Garrus shrugs a little and pulls away. “We both know what war can turn people into.”

“I’ll be fine, G. Promise.”

Garrus nods, Solana’s mandiles flicker into a smile, and then he watches his sister leave himself and Shepard alone.

Garrus slumps into the seat beside Shepard’s bed seconds after, a deep sigh leaving his chest. Gently, his head lowers to barely touch Shepard’s. As much anguish as he feels right now, and as much as Shepard simply doesn’t look like  _ herself, _ this moment is also the most _ right  _ anything has felt for a long time. 

“I miss you, Shepard,” Garrus says quietly. His breath comes out a little shaky as he says, “I don’t know what to do.”

If he knew what to do, he would’ve implemented the code Liara gave him by now. They’d be on their way to a new hospital where Shepard can live. But with what Joker said running through his mind…

The next time he sees the  _ Normandy’s _ pilot, Garrus is jamming a stick up  _ his  _ ass.

Throughout the evening and through the night Garrus finds himself first pacing, his thoughts running through his head like a Collector swarm; then he goes to get coffee, mostly because his eyes are feeling heavy but he  _ knows  _ he won’t be able to get to sleep; then he ends up glancing through that book Solana had been reading to Shepard on his Omnitool, but quickly grows bored; then he ends up staring at his dad’s picture on his contacts list, contemplating whether or not calling his dad is a good idea or not… 

_ Screw it. _

His dad doesn’t take long to answer. In Cipritine, it’s still day time; the sun shines through the blinds of Castis Vakarian’s office, brightening up the cold, steely room. Castis Vakarian answers his son’s vidcall with the professionalism of a man who’s always ready to work, always ready for action, and that air about him doesn’t disappear once he sees his son. Ever the perfect turian… 

Garrus, in comparison, doesn’t greet him formally. Instead he says, “Sorry to bother you.”

Castis Vakarian’s head tilts. “Not at all. What can I help you with, Garrus?”

_ Only whether to choose between life and death. _

Garrus closes his eyes, almost embarrassed to ask, “Am I selfish?”

There is quiet on Castis’ end of the line before he answers, “What’s going on, Garrus?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Castis sighs. “Some would perceive it so. I thought the same before you told me what was really going on---with the Reapers, with that human organisation the Commander sided with… and even with leaving Palaven to be with the Commander now. But I know at the end of the day you are simply doing what you believe is right.”

Garrus is quiet for a while. Does that make him feel better? What Castis says is true; he  _ does  _ try to do what he thinks is the right thing, no matter the consequences. Garrus simply doesn’t know what that means for him. In terms of the whole  _ Joker  _ thing… he can’t say that he thought ignoring him was right, but it was right for  _ Garrus.  _ Is it his fault people can’t respect his boundaries?

Talking to Castis about his problems always gives him more questions than it does answers.

Sighing, Garrus says, “I don’t know what to do, Dad.”

More quiet from Castis. “Is this regarding the Commander?”

Garrus nods.

Castis asks, “What are your instincts telling you?”

“They’re telling me two different things and I don’t know which path to take.”

Another pause. “Elaborate.”

“The last time something like this happened, something where Shepard was---indisposed… she cared most about the loss of time. Now… what if I’m putting her through more stress when she wakes up? Is it selfish of me to keep hoping? Should I just…” Garrus’ throat feels tight as he says, “let her go?”

Another pause. “You say she was most bothered by the loss of time?”

“Yes.”

“Because of the Reaper threat, or because she values the hours of her life that she missed?”

Garrus opens his mouth to answer, but he pauses. “I don’t… know.”

“Then until you know,” Castis responds, “you should not give up on the idea that she might still live.”

Garrus blinks. “What?”

“Garrus, the war is over. There is no looming threat. Would she be so upset about a few months of rest?”

Garrus is quiet.

Castis continues, “You have a choice. Keep faith that she will wake, or give up on her.”

“That’s not how it—”

“Yes, Garrus, it is. It’s a simple choice: keep the chance of her waking, or throw it away.”

“Simple,” Garrus laughs, though there’s a lack of humour there, “I don’t think so.”

“You have my answer regardless.”

Garrus is quiet once more before he lowers his head. Is it really that black and white? Maybe this time, he has to filter out the grey. Maybe this time, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of his decision. He won’t know how Shepard feels, what she wants, unless she’s able to verbalise it herself.

“Yeah,” Garrus says, his throat tight, “thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth, Garrus, although I would prefer to have you home… I know that isn’t what is going to make you happy, not while the Commander is unwell. I just want you to keep in touch, if you will.”

The way Garrus looks up at his father must show his surprise, because Castis’ mandibles flutter in a mixture of embarrassment and… is that fondness?

“We Vakarians think and feel strongly,” Castis continues. “It… comes with its burdens.”

Garrus lets out a huff of laughter. “You know, as nice as this is, I’m not used to you being like this.”

Castis’ mandibles flicker in amusement. “If you tell anyone, they won’t believe you.”

Garrus chuckles. “Right. No going to tell C-Sec just how soft their famed Detective Vakarian is, huh?”

“Garrus, I’m quite sure they would turn you away as soon as you stepped foot in the office. There’s only so many times you can try a C-Sec career and decide it’s not for you.”

Garrus laughs, and for the first time in a long time, Castis laughs with him. He knows then that as much of a stubborn bastard as Castis Vakarian can be, Garrus couldn’t ask for a better--or different--father.

Eyeing the monitors beside Shepard’s bed, Garrus knows what he has to do.

_ Sorry for the long wait, Liara. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Like Garrus said, sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I had some writer's block and also got distracted by a new video game!
> 
> As usual, please let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments. Kudos is always appreciated!
> 
> PS. I'll be cosplaying my Shepard on my cosplay TikTok account soon. It's teaseacosplays, so I'd love to see you there!


	11. You'll Be Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus works to put Liara's plan to work; a surprise encounter has the potential to ruin all his efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to mention that there's another mention of my Shepard's first name in this chapter! You've been warned <3

A few days ago, Garrus never would’ve imagined that it would feel good to get his father’s advice on Shepard, never mind also genuinely talk to him. His relationship with his father is nothing if not unstable and oftimes unpredictable. The call with his father has at least settled that anxious, unsettling feeling that lingered deep within his torso, and with that quelled, he finds it a little easier to gaze upon the woman he loves.

With a sigh of relief, Garrus pulls his chair closer to Shepard.

“I hope this is the right thing to do, Shepard,” Garrus murmurs softly. He leans down to press his mouth plates to her forehead: it’s as much of a kiss as a turian can achieve. “And if not… well, you can kick my ass for it later. After a hell of a lot of physical therapy, that is.”

_ If she ever walks again, _a voice in Garrus’ head reminds him.

No matter. Garrus will be there to carry her wherever she needs to go, if it gets that far.

“I know I’ve been… gone a while,” Garrus says, his throat tight. His fingers clench and unclench at his sides—he still can’t bare to touch her, afraid he’ll break her if he does. “But I couldn’t just sit here and wait. I needed to do something. There was only so long Archangel could hang about London until people started to grow suspicious.”

Garrus stands, unable to keep still, and he begins to pace. He’s not sure where all this is coming from but he knows desperately that he needs to say it.

“Joker, he, ah… he called me selfish. I think it was for leaving you? He sent me a lot of emails so I don’t remember all the things I’m supposed to feel guilty for, but I never would’ve left if I thought you wouldn’t understand. I knew you would, Shepard. You’re the one person who has never had to ask questions. Even with Sidonis, you let me do what I needed to do. You just know, and I—I need someone like that in my life. Not just someone. I… I need _ you. _”

For a moment, Garrus pauses, simply staring at Shepard as her chest rises and falls in that pristine hospital bed. He desperately wants to see her open her eyes and smile at him, to see happiness in those chocolate eyes of hers, but he knows that’s not an option right now. 

With a shake of his head, Garrus moves over to the terminal beside her bed. His fingers get to work; Garrus brings up the code Liara gave him and begins to implement it into the machine’s systems.

“I know you’d say that I can go on living without you because you want me to be happy,” Garrus continues, “and I could. I could go on living without you, but I just… I don’t want to. That’s the truth of it. I refuse. Your mother might have given up on you, but I won’t. Not until you give me a sign that you want to go, that it’s—that it’s _ time _for you to go. I’ll respect your wishes, honey, you know I would, just as you respect mine. 

Hell, you could tell me you don’t want me anymore now that the war is over and I’d still just be happy that you’re alive, that I could still look around and see your existence around me. But for now… there’s no Vakarian without Shepard, and I stand by that.”

Garrus stops typing on the terminal’s keypad momentarily, moving his focus to his Omnitool. Liara’s contact name is still up from when he retrieved the code she provided him with—their conversations are all heavily encrypted, of course, so there’s no need for code names.

* * *

**Garrus**

Inputting the code now. Let me know when you’re in.

**Liara**

Thank the Goddess. I thought something was wrong.

**Garrus**

There was. Nothing drastic, though. Just a delay of emotions.

* * *

Garrus continues, “So I’m getting you out of here. We, I should say, but regardless… I’ve always got your six.” 

His fingers resume typing on the keyboard. He watches as the correct symbols begin to align on the monitor, indicating that the code is implementing itself successfully. The code won’t affect Shepard’s monitors aside from making it incredibly difficult to unhook her from life support; that’s something Garrus could’ve whipped up himself in no time. The latter part of the code, the most arguably important part, will reach into the hospital’s systems, change the data so that Shepard’s transfer seems perfectly normal… 

* * *

**Liara**

I see.

Would you like to discuss it?

**Garrus**

Not right now.

But thanks.

**Liara**

Of course.

Is everything alright otherwise?

**Garrus**

You might want to ask Joker that question.

**Liara**

Ah…

* * *

Again, Garrus continues, “Guess that counts for breaking you out of crappy hospitals, too. I doubt this one would even be fun to fight through.”

* * *

**Garrus**

‘Ah’ indeed.

Joker. Really, Liara?

_ Liara is typing… _

* * *

The door hisses open behind him, catching Garrus off guard, and all he has time to do is tense.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to back away from the console,” a voice sounds behind him, human and unmistakably male, “and then I’m going to have you escorted out of the building.”

_ Shit. _

He can only imagine what this looks like; a heavily armoured turian messing with Commander Shepard's systems wouldn't look right to him, either, if it was the other way around. There are still a few minutes left for the code to implement itself into the hospital’s systems. Just how ancient are these machines? Suddenly, he’s annoyed at both the ambush behind him _ and _the fact that the galaxy hasn’t provided Shepard with the best machines possible. Yes, he knows that’s irrational. But if he stalls for long enough, the code will have enough time to do what it needs to… 

Slowly, Garrus moves his hands to splay at his side in surrender. In the reflection of the window, Garrus can see that the marine, dark haired and uniformed, has his gun pointed right at him.

“Good luck with that,” Garrus growls in response, “it was hard enough getting me to leave the first time.”

Garrus watches as the human behind him tenses. He must have struck a nerve--_ good _\--because when he presses his gun into the turian’s neck, a noise of frustration not unlike one of Shepard’s own slips from the human’s lips.

“You must be new here,” Garrus says slowly, menacingly, before the other can talk, “because I sure as hell know no other guard would dare point a gun at me when they know I’m cleared to visit my girlfriend any time I want.”

There’s quiet for a while before the marine says, “Hannah did mention a turian boyfriend.”

Now it’s Garrus’ turn to be annoyed, only for Garrus, his annoyance stems from just how much this human seems to like to point out the fact that he’s _ turian. _“You know Hannah.”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“Then since she’s the one who gave me clearance to be here in the first place, lower the damn weapon before I overload it myself.”

“Yeah, right. Nice tr—”

He must have seen Garrus’ fingers ready at his Omnitool, just one push of a button away, because the marine all of a sudden stops.

“Step away from the console,” he orders angrily instead.

Garrus sighs, already fed up with this idiot, but he doesn’t move. One glance at the monitor tells him the code still needs a few more seconds…

“I said step away,” the human orders once more, his irritation clear in his tone.

“I’m not about to do that,” Garrus responds. He turns, defiant, to face the marine now facing him. Maybe it’s stubborn, but Spirits, the prospect of getting Shepard back, the idea that she might live… after his conversation with Castis, Garrus feels a tad invincible.

Nonchalantly, and with a hint of sarcasm, the marine responds, “Don’t make me shoot you in here, man. I don’t think Noma’s room needs the clean up.”

Garrus tilts his head. There aren’t many who call Shepard by her first name… “Noma?” 

If he knows Shepard’s first name, then… is he close to her? Shepard doesn’t talk much of any family or friends; she’s only mentioned the little she told him about her mother and the brief amount of time she spent on Earth as a child. 

The marine scoffs, “You expect me to believe you’re my cousin’s boyfriend and you don’t even know her first name?”

His gun does not move out of Garrus’ face.

“It’s not that," Garrus responds, "you just—”

“I don’t give a shit, man. Move out of the damn way!”

Garrus doesn’t move.

In the blink of an eye, his turian agility sees that he’s able to flip the marine over, his back hitting the ground with a thud. It’s not the best impression to make on Shepard’s family, but who pointed the gun first? The overcharged weapon in the marine’s hands sizzles, and out of mere human instinct, he drops it. Garrus kicks it to the side. It’ll only work for a short amount of time, but until then… 

"_ G -- rr -- s _," a voice sounds, low and sleepy and...

Shepard.

When he spins to face her, she's staring at the both of them---and she’s wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the day we've all been waiting for... or is it?
> 
> I know this chapter is a little shorter, but as much as I wanted to add more to it, I couldn't think of how to do so without making it excessively long. I knew I wanted to end on Shepard saying Garrus' name, so there we go.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
